The revolution in Tanner's Lane

ISAAC FOOT
LIBRARY

/

THE REVOLUTION IN
TANNERS LANE

BY

MARK RUTHERFORD

HODDER. L STOUGHTONS
SEVENPENNY LIBRARY

HODDER, AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO

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LIBRARY

tJfavERsn Y OS- californu

SANTA BAttiiAilA

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE WORLD OUTSIDE

II. OUTSIDE PIKE STREET

III. THE THEATRE . - -

IV. A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE
V. THE HORIZON WIDENS

VI. TEA X LA MODE
VII. JEPKTHAH - _ .

VIII. UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE
IX. A STRAIN ON THE CABLE -
X. DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES
XI. POLITICS AND PAULINE
XII. ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT

XIII. TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS

XIV. THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY :

FORM THEREOF

THE SIXTH

PAGE

9

24

33

41

46

58
66

75
83

97
107

115

I2(?

134
148

155

XV. END OF THE BEGINNING - - - -

XVI. COWFOLD -

XVII. WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY

SLEEP ? YET A LITTLE SLEEP - - 1 68

XVIII. A RELIGIOUS PICNIC 1 75

XIX. " THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO

LEAVEN ------- 183

XX. THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD 's EXPOSI-
TION OF ROMANS VIII. 7 - - - 188

XXI. THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT - - - 195

JfXII. THE ORACLE WARNS — AFTER THE EVENT - I99

y

vi CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

XXIII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENT - - - - 208

XXIV. " I CAME NOT TO SEND PEACE, BUT A

SWORD " - 215

XXV. " AND A man's FOES SHALL BE THEY OF

HIS OWN HOUSEHOLD " ... 23I

XXVI. A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION • - 239

XXVII. MR. broad's last CHURCH MEETING — -

LATIMER CHAPEL . - - - 247

Per varies casus, per tot discrimina renim,

Tendimus in Latium ; sedes ubi fata quietas

Ostendunt. lUic fas regna resurgere Trojae.

Durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis."

— Virgil.

By diuers casis, sere parrellis and sufferance

Unto Itaill we ettill (aim) quhare destanye

Has schap (shaped) for vs ane rest and quiet harbrye

Predestinatis thare Troye sail ryse agane.

Be stout on prosper fortoun to remane."

— Gawin Douglas's translation.

CHAPTER I

The World Outside

The 20th April 1814, an almost cloudless, perfectly
sunny day, saw all London astir. On that day Lewis
the Eighteenth was to come from Hartwell in triumph,
summoned by France to the throne of his ancestors.
London had not enjoyed too much gaiety that year. It
was the year of the great frost. Nothing like it had been
known in the memory of man. In the West of England,
w^ere snow is rare, roads were impassable and mails
could not be delivered. Four dead men were dug out
of a deep drift about ten miles west of Exeter. Even at
Plymouth, close to the soft south-western ocean, the
average depth of the fall was twenty inches, and there
was no other way of getting eastwards than by pack-
horses. The Great North Road was completely blocked,
and there was a barricade over it near Godmanchester
of from six to ten feet high. The Oxford coach was
buried. Some passengers inside were rescued with great
difficulty, and their lives were barely saved. The Sol-
way Firth at Workington resembled the Arctic Sea, and
the Thames was so completely frozen over between
Blackfriars and London Bridges that people were able,
not only to walk across, but to erect booths on the ice.
Coals, of course, rose to famine prices in London, as it
was then dependent solely upon water-carriage for its
supply. The Father of liis people, the Prince Regent,
was much moved by the general distress of " a large
and meritorious class of industrious persons," as he
called them, and issued a circular to all Lords Lieutenant

10 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

ordering them to provide all practicable means of re-
moving obstructions from the highways.

However, on this 20th April the London mob forgot
the frost, forgot the quartern loaf and the national debt,
and prepared for a holiday, inspired thereto, not so much
by Lewis the Eighteenth as by the warmth and brilliant
sky. There are two factors in all human bliss — an
object and the subject The object may be a trifle, but
the condition of the subject is most important. Turn
a man out with his digestion in perfect order, with the
spring in the air and in his veins, and he will cheer any-
thing, any Lewis, Lord Liverpool, dog, cat, or rat who
may cross his path. Not that this is intended as a
sufficient explanation of the Bourbon reception. Far
from it ; but it does mitigate it a trifle. At eleven
o'clock in the forenoon two troops of the Oxford Blues
drew up at Kilburn turnpike to await the sacred arrival.
The Prince Regent himself went as far as Stanmore to
meet his August Brother. When the August Brother
reached the village, the excited inhabitants thereof took
the horses out of the carriage and drew him through the
street. The Prince, standing at the door of the principal
inn, was in readiness to salute him, and this he did by
embracing him ! There have been some remarkable
embraces in history. Joseph fell on Israel's neck, and
Israel said unto Joseph, " Now let me die, since I have
seen thy face : " Paul, after preaching at Ephesus,
calling the elders of the Church to witness that, for the
space of three years, iie ceased not to warn every one
night and day with tears, kneeled down and prayed, so
that they all wept sore and fell on his neck : Romeo took
a last embrace of J uliet in the vault, and sealed the doors
of breath with a righteous kiss : Penelope embraced
Ulysses, who was welcome to her as land is welcome to
shipwrecked swimmers escaping from the grey sea-
water — there have, we say, been some remarkable em-
braces on this earth since time began, but none more
remarkable than that on the steps of the Abercorn Arms.
The Divine couple then drove in solemn procession to
town. From the park corner for three-quarters of a
mile or so was a line of private carriages, filled with most

THE WORLD OUTSIDE ii

fashionable people, the ladies all standing on the seats
The French Royalist flag waved everywhere. All along
the Kilburn Road, then thinly lined with houses, it was
triumphant, and even the trees were decorated with it.
Arriving by way of Cumberland Gate at Piccadilly,
Lewis was escorted, amidst uproarious rejoicing, to
Grillon's Hotel in Albemarle Street. There, in reply to
an address from the Prince, he " ascribed, under Provi-
dence," to his Royal Highness and the British people
his present blissful condition ; and soon afterwards,
being extremely tired, went to bed. This was on a Wed-
nesday. The next day, Thursday, His Sacred Majesty,
or Most Christian Majesty, as he was then called, was
solemnly made a Knight of the Garter, the Bishops of
Salisbury and Winchester assisting. On Friday he
received the corporation of London, and on Saturday
the 23rd he prepared to take his departure. There was
a great crowd in the street when he came out of the hotel
and immense applause ; the mob crying out, " God bless
your Majesty ! " as if they owed him all they had, and
even their lives. It was very touching, people thought
at the time, and so it was. Is there anything more
touching than the waste of human loyalty and love ?
As we read the history of the Highlands or a story of
Jacobite loyalty such as that of Cooper's Admiral Blue-
water, dear to bo^'s, we sadden that destiny should decree
that in a world in which piety is not too plentiful it
should run so pitifully to waste, and that men and
women should weep hot tears and break their hearts
over bran-stuffing and wax.

Amidst the hooraying multitude that Saturday April
morning was one man at least, Zachariah Coleman by
name, who did not hooray, and did not lift his hat even
when the Sacred Majesty appeared on the hotel steps.
He was a smallish, thin-faced, lean creature in work-
man's clothes ; his complexion was white, blanched by
office air, and his hands were black v.dth printer's ink.

" Off with your tile, you b — y Corsican I " exclaimed
a roaring voice behind him. Zachariah turned round,
and found the request came from a drayman weighing
about eighteen stone ; but the tile was not removed. In

12 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

an instant it was sent flying to the other side of the road,
where it was trodden on, picked up, and passed forward
in the air amidst laughter and jeers, till it was finally lost.

Zachariah was not pugnacious, and could not very
well be so in the presence o£ his huge antagonist ; but
he Avas no coward, and not seeing for the moment that
his hat had hopelessly gone, he turned round savagely,
and laying hold of the drayman, said :

" You ruffian, give it me back ; if I am a Corsican,
are you an Englishman ? "

" Take that for your b — y beaver," said the other,
and dealt him a blow with the fist right in his face, which
staggered and stupefied him, covering him with blood.

The bystanders, observing the disparity between the
two men, instantly took Zachariah's side, and called out
" Shame, shame ! " Nor did they confine themselves
to ejaculations, for a young fellow of about eight and
twenty, well dressed, with a bottle-green coat of broad-
cloth, buttoned close, stepped up to the drayman.

" Knock my tile off, beer-barrel."

The drayman instantly responded by a clutch at it,
but before he could touch it he had an awful cut across
the.lips, delivered with such scientific accuracy from the
left shoulder that it was clear it came from a disciple
of Jackson or Tom Cribb. The crowd now became
intensely delighted and excited, and a cry of " A ring,
a ring ! " was raised. The drayman, blind with rage,
let out with his right arm with force enough to fell an
ox, but the stroke was most artistically parried, and the
response was another fearful gash over the right eye.
By this time the patriot had had enough, and declined
to continue the contest. His foe, too, seemed to have
iio desire for any further display of his powers, and retired
smilingly, edging his way to the pavement, where he
found poor Zachariah almost helpless.

" Holloa, my republican friend, d — n it, that's a nasty
lick you've got, and from one of the people too ; that
makes it harder to bear, eh ? Never mind, he's worse
off than you are."

Zachariah thanked him as well as he could for defend-
in" him.

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 13

" Not a word ; haven't got a scratch myself. Come
along with me ; " and he dragged him along Piccadilly
into a public-house in Swallow Street, where apparently
he was well known. Water was called for ; Zachariah
was sponged, the wound strapped up, some brandy given
him, and the stranger, ordering a hackney coach, told
the driver to take the gentleman home.

" Wait a bit," he called, as the coach drove off. " You
may feel faint ; I'll go home with you," and in a moment
he was by Zachariah' s side. The coach found its way
slowly tlirough the streets to some lodgings in Clerken-
well. It was well the stranger did go, for his companion
on arrival was hardly able to crawl upstairs to give a
coherent account to his wife of what had happened.

Zachariah Coleman, working man, printer, was in
April 18 14 about thirty years old. He was employed
in a jobbing office in the city, where he was compositor
and pressman as well. He had been married in January
1 8 14 to a woman a year younger than himself, who
attended the meeting-house at Hackney, whither he
went on the Sunday. He was a Dissenter in religion,
and a fierce Radical in politics, as many of the Dissenters
in that day were. He was not a ranter or revivalist,
but vv'hat was called a moderate Calvinist ; that is to
say, he held to Calvinism as his undoubted creed, but
when it came to the push in actual practice he modified
it. In this respect he was inconsistent ; but who is
there who is not ? His theology probably had no more
gaps in it than that of the latest and most enlightened
preacher who denies miracles and affirms the Universal
Benevolence. His present biographer, from intimate
acquaintance with the class to which Zachariah belonged,
takes this opportunity to protest against the general
assumption that the Calvinists of that day, or of any
day, arrived at their belief by putting out their eyes and
accepting blindly the authority of St. Paul or anybody
else. It may be questioned, indeed, whetlier any religious
body has ever stood so distinctly upon the understanding
and has used its intellect with such rigorous activity, as
the Puritans, from whom Zachariah was a genuine des-
cendant. Even if Calvinism had been carved on tables

14 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

of stone and handed down from heaven by the Almighty
Hand, it would not have lived if it had not have found
to agree more or less with the facts, and it was because
it was a deduction from what nobody can help seeing
that it was so vital, the Epistle to the Romans serving
as the inspired confirmation of an experience. Zac-
hariah was a great reader of all kinds of books — a lover
especially of Bunyan and Milton ; as logical in his
politics as in his religion ; and he defended the execution
of Charles the First on the ground that the people had
just as much right to put a king to death as a judge had
to order the execution of any other criminal.

The courtship between Zachariah and the lady who
became his \vife had been short, for there could be no
mistake, as they had known one another so long. She
was black-haired, with a perfectly oval face, always
dressed with the most scrupulous neatness, and with a
certain plain tightness which Zachariah admired. She
had exquisitely white and perfect teeth, a pale, clear
complexion, and the reputation of being a most sensible
woman. She was not a beauty, but she was good-look-
ing ; the weak points in her face being her eyes, which
were mere inexpressive optic organs, and her mouth,
which, when shut, seemed too much shut, just as if it were
compressed by an effort of the will or by a spring. These,
however, Zachariah thought minor matters, if, indeed,
he ever noticed them. " The great thing was, that she
was " — sometimes this and sometimes that — and so it
was settled. Unfortunately in marriage it is so diffi-
cult to be sure of what the great thing is, and what
the little thing is, the little thing becoming so
frightfully big afterwards ! Theologically, Mrs. Zac-
hariah was as strict as her husband, and more so, as
far as outward observance went, for her strictness
was not tempered by those secular interests which to him
were so dear. She read little or nothing — nothing,
indeed, on week-days, and even the Morning Chronicle,
which Zachariah occasionally borrowed, was folded up
when he had done with it and put under the tea-caddy
till it was returned. On Sundays she took up a book in
the afternoon, but she carefully prepared herself for

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 15

the operation as though it were a sacramental service.
When the dinner-things were washed up, when the hearth
was swept and the kettle on the fire, having put on her
best Sunday dress, it was her custom to go to the window
always to the window, never to the fire — where she
would open Boston's Fourfold State and hold it up in
front of her with both hands. This, however, did not
last long, for on the arrival of the milkman the volume
was replaced, and it was necessary to make preparations
for tea.

The hackney coach drove up to the house in Rosoman
Street where Zachariah dwelt on the first floor. He was
too weak to go upstairs by himself, and he and his friend
therefore walked into the front room together. It was
in complete order, although it was so early in the morning.
Everything was dusted ; even the lower fire-bar had
not a speck of ashes on it, and on the hob already was a
saucepan in which Mrs. Coleman proposed to cook the
one o'clock dinner. On the walls were portraits of Sir
Francis Burdett, Major Cartwright, and the mezzotint
engraving of Sadler's Bimyan. Two black silhouettes
— one of Zachariah and the other of his wife — were sus-
pended on each side of the mantel-piece.

Mrs. Coleman was busily engaged in the bedroom, but
hearing the footsteps, she immediately entered. She
was slightly taken aback at seeing Zachariah in such a
plight, and uttered a little scream, but the bottle-green
stranger, making her a profound bow, arrested her.

" Pardon me, my dear madam, there is nothing
seriously the matter. Your husband has had the mis-
fortune to be the victim of a most blackguardly assault ;
but I am sure that, under your Care, he will be all right
in a day or two ; and, with your permission, I take my
leave."

Mrs. Coleman was irritated. The first emotion was
not sympathy. Absolutely the first was annoyance at
being seen without proper notice by such a fine-looking
gentleman. She had, however, no real cause for vexation
under this head. She had tied a white handkerchief
over her hair, fastening it under her chin, as her manner
was when doing her morning's work, and she had on her

i6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

white apron ; but she was trim and faultless, and the
white handkerchief did but set off her black hair and
marble complexion. Her second emotion, too, was not
sympathy. Zachariah was at home at the wrong time.
Her ordinary household arrangements were upset. He
might possibly be ill, and then there would be a mess
and confusion. The thought of sickness was intolerable
to her, because it " put everything out." Rising up at
the back of these two emotions came, haltingly, a third
when she looked her husband in the face. She could,
not help it, and she did really pity him.

" I am sure it is very kind of you," she replied.

Zachariah had as yet spoken no word, nor had she
moved towards him. The stranger was departing.

" Stop ! " cried Zachariah, " you have not told me
your name. I am too faint to say how much I owe
you for your protection and kindness."

" Nonsense. My name is Maitland — Major Maitland,
I A Albany. Good-bye."

He was at the top of the stairs, when he turned round,
and looking at Mrs. Coleman, observed musingly, " I
think I'll send my doctor, and, if you will permit me,
will call in a day or two."

She thanked him ; he took her hand, politely pressed
it to his lips, and rode off in the coach which had been
waiting for him.

" What has happened, my dear ? Tell me all about
it," she inquired as she went back into the parlour, with
just the least colour on her cheek, and perceptibly a
little happier than she was five minutes before. She
did nothing more than put her hand on his shoulder,
but he brightened immediately. He told her the tale,
and when it was over desired to lie down and to have
some tea.

Emotion number two returned to Mrs. Coleman
immediately. Tea at that time, the things having
been all cleared away and washed up ! She did not,
however, like openly to object, but she did go so far
as to suggest that perhaps cold water would be better,
as there might be inflammation. Zachariah, although
he was accustomed to give way, begged for tea ; and

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 17

it was made ready, but not with water boiled there.
She would not again put the copper kettle on the fire,
as it was just cleaned, but she asked to be allowed
to use that which belonged to the neighbour downstairs
who kept the shop. The tea-things were replaced
when Zachariah had finished, and his wife returned
to her duties, leaving him sitting in the straight-backed
Windsor-chair, looking into the grate and feeling very
miserable.

In the afternoon Rosoman Street was startled to
see a grand carriage stop at Zachariah's door, and
out stepped the grand doctor, who, after some little
hesitation and inquiry, made his way upstairs. Having
examined our friend, he pronounced him free from all
mortal or even serious injury — it was a case of contusion
and shaken nerves, which required a little alterative
medicine, and on the day after to-morrow the patient,
although bruised and sore in the mouth, might go
back to work.

The next morning he was better, but nevertheless
he was depressed. It was now three months since
his wedding-day, and the pomp and beauty of the
sunrise, gold and scarlet bars with intermediate lakes
of softest blue, had been obscured by leaden clouds,
which showed no break and let loose a cold drizzling
rain. How was it ? He often asked himself that
question, but could obtain no satisfactory answer. Had
anything changed ? Was his wife anything which
he did not know her to be three months ago ? Certainly
not. He could not accuse her of passing herself off
upon him with false pretences. What she had always
represented herself to be she was now. There she stood
precisely as she stood twelve months ago, when he
asked her to become his wife, and he thought when she
said " yes" that no man was more blessed than he. It
was, he feared, true he did not love her, nor she him ;
but why could not they have found that out before ?
What a cruel destiny was this which drew a veil before
his eyes and led him blindfold over the precipice I He
at first thought, when his joy began to ebb in February
or March, that it would rise again, and that he would

i8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

see matters in a different light ; but the spring was
here, and the tide had not turned. It never would turn
now, and he became at last aware of the sad truth — the
saddest a man can know — that he had missed the great
delight of existence. His chance had come, and had
gone. Henceforth all that was said and sung about
love and home would find no echo in him. He was
paralysed, dead in half of his soul, and would have to
exist with the other half as well he could. He had
done no wrong : he had done his best ; he had not sold
himself to the flesh or the devil, and, Calvinist as he
was, he was tempted at times to question the justice of
such a punishment. If he put his finger in the fire and
got burnt, he was able to bow to the wisdom which
taught him in that plain way that he was not to put
his finger in the fire. But wherein lay the beneficence
of visiting a simple mistake — one which he could not
avoid — with a curse worse than the Jewish curse of
excommunication — " the anathema wherewith Joshua
cursed Jericho ; the curse which Elisha laid upon the
children ; all the curses which are written in the law.
Cursed be he by day, and cursed be he by night : cursed
be he in sleeping, and cursed be he in waking : cursed
in going out, and cursed in coming in." Neither the
wretched victim nor the world at large was any better
for such a visitation, for it was neither remedial nor
monitory. Ah, so it is ! The murderer is hung at
Newgate, and if he himself is not improved by the
process, perhaps a few wicked people are frightened ;
but men and women are put to a worse death every
day by slow strangulation which endures for a lifetime,
and, as far as we can see, no lesson is learned by any-
body, and no good is done.

Zachariah, however, did not give way to despair, for
he was not a man to despair. His religion was a part
of himself. He had immortality before him, in which
he thanked God there was no marrying nor giving in
marriage. This doctrine, however, did not live in him
as the other dogmas of his creed, for it was not one in
which his intellect had such a share. On the other
hand, predestination was dear to him. God knew him

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 19

as closely as He knew the angel next His throne, and
had marked out his course with as much concern as
that of the seraph. What God's purposes were he did
not know. He took a sort of sullen pride in not know-
ing, and he marched along, footsore and wounded, in
obedience to the orders of his great Chief. Only thirty
years old, and only three months a husband, he had
already learned renunciation. There was to be no joy
in life ? Then he would be satisfied if it were tolerable,
and he strove to dismiss all his dreams and do his best
with what lay before him. Oh my hero ! Perhaps
somewhere or other — let us hope it is true — a book is
kept in which human w^orth is duly appraised, and in
that book, if such a volume there be, we shall find that
the divinest heroism is not that of the man who, hold-
ing life cheap, puts his back against a wall, and is shot
by Government soldiers, assured that he will live ever
afterwards as a martyr and saint : a diviner heroism is
that of the poor printer, Avho, in dingy, smoky Rosoman
Street, Clerkenwell, with forty years before him, deter-
mined to live through them, as far as he could, without
a murmur, although there was to be no pleasure in
them. A diviner heroism is this, but divinest of all, is
that of him who can in these days do what Zachariah.
did, and without Zachariah's faith.

The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife were
sitting down to tea, there was a tap at the door, and
in walked Major Maitland. He was now in full after-
noon costume, and, if not dandyish, was undeniably
well dressed. Making a profound bow to Mrs. Coleman,
he advanced to the fireplace and instantly shook hands
with Zachariah.

" Well, my republican, you are better, although the
beery loyalist has left his mark upon you."

" Certainly, much better ; but where I should have
been, sir, if it had not been for you, I don't
know."

" Ah, well ; it was an absolute pleasure to me to
teach the blackguard that cheering a Bourbon costs
something. My God, though, a man must be a fool
who has to be taught that I I wonder what it has cost

20 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

us. Why, I see you've got my friend, Major Carhvright,
up there."

Zachariah and his wife started a moment at what
they considered the profane introduction of God's name ;
but it was not exactly swearing, and Major Maitland's
relationship to them was remarkable. They were there-
fore silent.

" A true friend of the people," continued Maitland,
" is Major Cartwright ; but he does not go quite far
enough to please me."

" As for the people so-called," quoth Zachariah, " I
doubt whether they are worth saving. Look at the
mob we saw the day before }'esterday. I think not of
the people. But there is a people, even in these days
of Ahab, whose feet may yet be on the necks of their
enemies."

" Why, you are an aristocrat," said Maitland, smiling ;
" only you want to abolish the present aristocracy and
give us another. You must not judge us by what you
saw in Piccadilly, and while you are still smarting from
that smasher on your eye. London, I grant you, is not,
and never was, a fair specimen. But, even in London,
you must not be deceived. You don't know its real
temper ; and then, as to not being worth saving — why,
the worse men are th--^ more they want saving. How-
ever, we are both agreed about this — -crew, Liverpool,
the Prince Regent, and his friends." A strong word
was about to escape before " crew," but the Major saw
that he was in a house where it would be out of place.
" I wish you'd join our Friends of the People. We want
two or three determined fellows like you. We are ail
safe."

" What are the ' Friends of the People ' ? "

" Oh, it's a club of — a — good fellows who meet twice
a week for a little talk about affairs. Come with me
next Friday and see."

Zachariah hesitated a moment, and then consented.

" All right ; I'll fetch you." He was going away,
and picked up from the table a book he had brought
with him.

•' By the way, you will not be at work till to-morrow.

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 21

I'll leave you this to amuse you. It has not been out
long. Thirteen thousand copies were sold the first day.
It is the Corsair — Byron's Corsair. My God, it is poetry
and no mistake ! Not exactly, perhaps, in your line ;
but you are a man of sense, and if that doesn't make
your heart leap in you, I'm much mistaken. Lord
Byron is a neighbour of mine in the Albany. I know
him by sight. I've waited a whole livelong morning at
my window to see him go out. So much the more fool
you, you'll say. Ah, well, wait till you have read the
Corsair."

The Major shook hands. Mrs. Coleman, who had been
totally silent during the interview, excepting when she
asked him if he would join in a cup of tea — an offer
most gracefully declined — followed him to the top of
the stairs. As before, he kissed her hand, made her
a profound bow, and was off. When she came back
into the room the faint flush on the cheek was repeated,
and there was the same unusual little rippling overflow
of kindness to her husband.

In the evening Zachariah took up the book. Byron
was not, indeed, in his line. He took no interest in
him, although, like every other Englishman, he had
heard much about him. He had passed on his way to
Albemarle Street the entrance to the Albany. Byron
was lying there asleep, but Zachariah, although he knew
he was within fifty yards of hiin, felt no emotion what-
ever. Tliis was remarkable, for Byron's influence, even
in 1 814, was singular, beyond that of all predecessors
and successors, in the wideness of its range. He was
read by e%"erybody. Men and women who were acces-
sible to no other poetry were accessible to his, and old
sea-captains, merchants, tradesmen, clerks, tailors,
milliners, as well as the best judges in the land repeated
his verses by the page.

Mrs. Coleman, having cleared away the tea-things,
sat knitting till half-past six. It was prayer-meeting
night, and she ne^'cr missed going. Zachariah generally
accompanied her, but he was not quite presentable, and
stayed at home. He went on with the Corsair, and as
he read his heart warmed, and he unconsciously found

22 THE REVOLUTION LN TANNER'S LANE

himself declaiming several of the most glowing and
eloquent lines aloud. He was by nature a poet ; essen-
tially so, for he loved everything which hfted him above
what is commonplace. Isaiah, Milton, a storm, a revo-
lution, a great passion — with these he was at home ;
and his education, mainly on the Old Testament, con-
tributed greatly to the de\-eIopment both of the strengtli
and weakness of his character. For such as he are
weak as well as strong ; weak in the absence of the
innumerable little sympathies and worldlinesses which
make life dcUghtful, and but too apt to despise and
tread upon those gentle flowers which are as really here
as the sun and the stars, and are nearer to us. Zachariah
found in the Corsair exactly what answered to his own
inmost self, down to its very depths. The lofty style,
the scorn of what is mean and base, the courage — root
of all x-irtue — that dares and evermore dares in the very
last extremity, the love of the illimitable, of freedom,
and the cadences like the fall of waves on a sea-shore
were attractive to him beyond measure. More than
this, there was Love. His own love was a failure, and
yet it was impossible for him to indulge for a moment
iiis imagination elsewhere. The difference between him
and his wife might have risen to absolute aversion, and
yet no wandering fancy would ever have been encouraged
towards any woman living. But when he came to
Medora's song :

" Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before."

and more particularly the second verse :

" There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp

Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ;

Which not the darkness of despair can damp.

Though vain its ray as it had never been."

love again asserted itself. It was not love for a person ;
p>erhaps it was hardly love so much as the capacity for
love. Whatever it may be, henceforth this is what love

THE WORLD OUTSIDE 23

will be in him, and it will be fully maintained, though
it knows no actual object. It will manifest itself in
suppressed force, seeking for exit in a thousand direc-
tions ; sometimes grotesque perhaps, but always force.
It will give energy to expression, vitality to his admira-
tion of the beautiful, devotion to his worship, enthusiasm
to his zeal for frecdoin. More than this, it will not
make his private life unbearable by contrast ; rather
the reverse. The vision of Medora will not intensify
the shadow over Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell, but will
soften it.

CHAPTER II

Outside Pike Street

On the Friday evening the Major called for Zachariah.
He had not yet returned, but his wife was at home.
The tea-things were ready, the kettle was on the hob,
and she sat knitting at the window. Her visitor knocked
at the door ; she rose, and he entered. This time he
was a little less formal, for after making his bow he
shook her hand. She, too, was not quite so stiff, and
begged him to be seated.

" Upon my word, madam," he began, " if I were as
well looked after as Mr. Coleman, I doubt if I should
be so anxious as he is to change the existing order of
things. You would think there is some excuse for me
if you were to see the misery and privation of my
lodgings. Nobody cares a straw, and as for dust and
dirt, they would drive you distracted."

Mrs. Zachariah smiled, and shifted one of her little
wliite-stockinged feet over the other. She had on the
neatest of sandals, with black ribbons, which crossed
over the instep. It was one of Zachariah's weak points,
she considered, that he did not seem to care sufficiently
for cleanliness, and when he came in he would some-
times put his black hand, before he had washed, on the
white tea-cloth, or on the back of a chair, and leave
behind him a patch of printer's ink. It was bad enough
to be obliged always to wipe the door-handles.

" I do my best ; but as for dirt, you cannot be so
badly off in the Albany as we are in Clerkenwell. Clerk-
enwell is very disagreea'ble, but we are obliged to live
here."

24

OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 25

" If Clcrkenwell is so bad, all the more honour to
you for your triumph."

" Oh, I don't know about honour ; my husband says
it is simply my nature."

" Nature ! All the better. I could never live with
anybody who was always trying and trying and strug-
gling. I believe in Nature. Don't you ? "

This was an abstract inquiry beyond Mrs. Zachariah's
scope. " It is some people's nature to like to be tidy,"
she contented herself with observing ; " and others do
not care for it."

" Oh, perhaps it is because I am a soldier, and accus-
tomed to order, that I care for it above everything."

Mrs. Zachariah started for a moment. She reflected.
She had forgotten it — that she was talking to an officer
in His Majesty's service.

" Have you seen much fighting, sir ? "

" Oh, well, for the matter of that, I have had my
share. I was at Talavera, and suffer a (^ood deal now
in damp weather, from having slept so much in the
open air."

" Dear me, that is very hard ! My husband is rheu-
matic, and finds Tarver's embrocation do him more good
than anything. Will you try it if I give you some ? "

" With profound gratitude." Mrs. Coleman filled an
empty bottle, took a piece of folded brown paper out
of the fireplace cupboard, untied a coil of twine, made
up a compact little parcel, and gave it to the Major.

" A thousand thanks. If faith now can really cure,
I shall be well in a week."

Mrs. Zachariah smiled again.

" Are you Dissenters ? " he asked abruptly.

" Yes. Independents."

" I am not surprised. Ever since Cromwell's days
you have always been on the side of liberty ; but are
you strict — I don't know exactly what to call it — go to
the prayer-meetings — and so on ? "

" We are both members of the church, and Mr. Cole-
man is a deacon," repHed Mrs. Zachariah, with a gravity
not hitherto observable.

She looked out of the window, and saw him coming

26 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

down the street. She placed the kettle nearer the fire,
put the tea in the teapot, and sat down again. He
came upstairs, went straight into his bedroom, cleaned
himself as much as possible, changed his coat, and
entered. The Major, being pressed, consented to take
tea, and Mrs. Zachariah was a cheerful and even talka-
tive hostess, to the surprise of at least one member of
the company. She sat next to her husband, and the
Major sat opposite. Three silver spoons and silver
sugar-tongs had been put on the table. Ordinarily the
spoons were pe\\i:er. Zachariah, fond of sugar, was in
the habit of taking it with his fingers — a practice to
which Mrs. Zachariah strongly objected, and with some
reason. It w^as dirty, and as his hands were none of
the whitest, the neighbouring lumps became soiled, and
acquired a flavour which did not add to their sweetness.
She had told him of it a score of times ; but he did not
amend, and seemed to think her particularity rather a
vice than a virtue. So it is that, as love gilds all defects,
lack of love sees nothing but defect in what is trulv
estimable. Notwithstanding the sugar-tongs, Zachariah
— excusable, perhaps, this time, considering the warmth
of the speech he was making against the late war — •
pushed them aside, and helped himself after the usual
fashion. A cloud came over Mrs. Zachariah's face ; she
compressed her lips in downright anger, pushed the
tongs towards him with a rattle, and trod on his foot
at the same time. His oration came to an end ; he
looked round, became confused, and was suddenly silent ;
but the Major gallantly came to the rescue by jumping
up to prevent Mrs. Zachariah from moving in order to
put more water on the tea.

" Excuse me, pray ; " but as he had risen somewhat
suddenly to reach the kettle, he caught the table-cloth
on his knee, and in a moment his cup and saucer and the
plate were on the floor in twenty pieces, and the tea
running all over the carpet. Zachariah looked at his
wife, and expected to see her half frantic. But no ;
though it was her best china, she stopped the Major's
apologies, and assured him, with something almost like
laughter, that it was not of the shghtest consequence.

OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 27

" Tea doesn't stain ; I hope it has not gone on your
coat ; " and producing a duster from the cupboard, the
evil, save the loss of the crockery, was remedied in a
couple of minutes.

At half-past seven o'clock the Major and Zachariah
departed. They walked across the top of Hatton Gar-
den, and so onwards till they came to Red Lion Street.
Entering a low passage at the side of a small public-
house, they went up some stairs, and found themselves
opposite a door which was locked. The Major gave
three taps and then paused. A moment afterwards he
tapped again twice ; the lock was turned, and he was
admitted. Zachariah found himself in a spacious kind
of loft. There was a table running down the middle,
and round it were seated about a dozen men, most of
whom were smoking and drinking beer. They welcomed
the Major with rappings, and he moved towards the
emoty chair at the head of the board.

" You're late, chairman," said one.

" Been to fetch a new comrade."

" Is that the cove ? He looks all right. Here's your
health, guv'nor, and d — n all tyrants." With that he
took a pull at the beer.

" Swear him," said the Major.

A disagreeable-looking man with a big round nose,
small red eyes, unshaven face, and slightly unsteady
voice, rose, laid down his pipe, and beckoned to Zacha-
riah, who advanced towards him.

The Secretary — for he it was — produced a memo-
randum-book, and began with a stutter :

" In the sacred name of "

" Stop ! " cried Zachariah, " I don't swear."

" That will do," shouted the Major across a hubbub
which arose — " religious. I'll answer for him : let him
sign ; that's enough."

" You are answerable," growled the Secretary ; " if
he's a d — d spy we'll have his blood, that's all, and
yours too. Major." The Major took no notice, and
Zachariah put his name in the book, the roll of the Red
Lion Friends of the People.

" Business, Mr. Secretary — the last minutes."

28 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER S LANE

The minutes were read, and an adjourned debate was
then renewed on a motion to organise public meetings
to petition in favour of Parliamentary Reform. The
reader must understand that poHtics in those days were
somewhat different from the pohtics of fifty or sixty
years later. Bread was thirteenpence a quartern loaf ;
the national debt, with a much smaller population, was
what it is now ; everything was taxed, and wages were
very low. But what was most galling was the fact
that the misery, the taxes, and the debt had been
accumulated, not by the will of the people, but by a
corrupt Plouse of Commons, the property of borough-
mongers, for the sake of supporting the Bourbons
directly, but indirectly and chiefly the House of Han-
over and the hated aristocracy. There was also a
scandalous list of jobs and pensions. Years afterwards,
when the Government was forced to look into abuses,
the Reverend Thomas Thurlow, to take one example
amongst others, was awarded, as compensation for the
loss of his two offices. Patentee of Bankrupts and Keeper
of Hanaper, the modest allowance annually until his
death of ;^i 1,380 14s. 6d. The men and women of that
time, although there were scarcely any newspapers, were
not fools, and there was not a Nottingham weaver who
put a morsel of bread in his hungry belly who did not
know that two morsels might have gone there if there
were no impost on foreign corn to maintain rents, and
if there were no interest to pay on money borrowed to
keep these sacred kings and lords safe in their palaces
and parks. Opinion at the Red Lion Friends of the
People Club was much divided. Some were for demon-
strations and agitation, whilst others were for physical
force. The discussion went on irregularly amidst much
tumult.

" How long would thev have waited over the water
if they had done nothing but jaw ? They met together
and tore down the Bastile, and that's what we must do."

" That may be true," said a small white-faced man
who neither smoked nor drank, " but what followed ?
You don't do anything really till you've reasoned it
out."

OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 29

" It's my belief, parson," retorted the other, " that
5'ou are in a d — d funk. This is not the place for
Methodists."

" Order, order ! " shouted the chairman.

" I am not a Metliodist," quietly replied the other ;
" unless yep mean by Methodist a man who fears God
and loves Ins Saviour. I am not ashamed to own that,
and I am none the worse for it as far as I know. As
for being a coward, we shall see."

The Secretary meanwhile had gone on with his beer.
Despite his notorious failing, he had been chosen for the
post because in his sober moments he was quick with
his pen. He was not a working man ; nay, it was said
he had been at Oxford. His present profession was
that of attorney's clerk. He got up and began a ha-
rangue about Brutus.

" There's one way of dealing with tyrants — the old
way, Mr. Chairman. Death to them all, say I ; the
short cut ; none of your palaver ; what's the use of
palavering ? "

He was a little shaky, took hold of the rail of his
chair, and as he sat down broke his pipe.

Some slight applause followed ; but the majority were
either against him, or thought it better to be silent.

The discussion continued irregularly, and Zachariah
noticed that about half-a-dozen of those present took
no part in it. At about ten o'clock the chairman de-
clared the meeting at an end ; and it was quite time
he did so, for the smoke and the drink had done their
work.

As Zachariah came out, a man stood by his side
whom he had scarcely noticed during the evening. He
was evidently a shoemaker. There was a smell of
leather about him, and his hands and face were grimy.
He had a slightly turned-up nose, smallish eyes, half
hidden under very black eyebrows, and his lips were
thin and straight. His voice was exceedingly high-
pitched, and had something creaking in it like the sound
of an ill-greased axle. He spoke with emphasis, but
not quite like an Englishman, was fond of alliteration,
and often, in the middle of a sentence, paused to search

30 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

for a word which pleased him. Having found it, the
remainder of the sentence was poised and cast from him
like a dart. His style was a curious mixture of foreign
imperfection and rhetoric — a rhetoric, however, by no
means affected. It might have been so in another
person, but it was not so in him. H

" Going east ? " said he.

" Yes."

" If you want company, I'll walk with you. What
do you think of the Friends ? "

Zachariah, it will be borne in mind, although he was
a Democrat, had never really seen the world. He
belonged to a religious sect. He believed in the people,
it is true, but it was a people of Cromwellian Inde-
pendents. He purposely avoided the company of men
who used profane language, and never in his life entered
a tavern. He did not know what the masses really
were ; for although he worked with his hands, printers
were rather a superior set of fellows, and his was an
old-established shop which took the best of its class.
When brought actually into contact with swearers and
drunkards as patriots and reformers he was more than
a little shocked.

" Not much," quoth he.

" Not worse than our virtuous substitute for a
sovereign ? "

" No, certainly."

" You object to giving them votes, but is not the
opinion of the silliest as good as that of Lord Sidmouth ? "

" That's no reason for giving them votes."

" I should like to behold the experiment of a new
form of misgovernment. If we are to be eternally
enslaved to fools and swindlers, why not a change ?
We have had regal misrule and aristocratic swindling
long enough."

" Seriously, my friend," he continued, " study that
immortal charter, the Declaration of the Rights of
Man."

He stopped in the street, and with an oratorical air
repeated the well-known lines, " Men are born and
always continue free, and equal in respect of their

OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 31

rights. . . . Every citizen has a right, either by himself
or by his representative, to a free voice in determining
the necessity of pubUc contributions, the appropriation
of them, and their amount, mode of assessment, and
duration." He knew them by heart. " It is the truth,"
he continued : " you must come to that, unless you
beUeve in the Divine appointment of dynasties. There
is no logical repose between Lord Liverpool and the
Declaration. What is the real difference between him
and you ? None but a question of degree. He does
not believe in absolute monarchy, and stays at this
point. You go a little lower. You are both alike.
How dare yom say, ' My brother, I am more honest and
more religious than you ; pay me half-a-crown and I
will spend it for your welfare ' ? You cannot tell me
that. You know I should have a right to reject you.
I refuse to be coerced. I prefer freedom to — felicity."

Zachariah was puzzled. He was not one of those
persons who can see no escape from an argument and
yet are not convinced ; one of those happy creatures
to whom the operations of the intellect are a joke—
who, if they are shown that the three angles of a triangle
are equal to two right angles, decline to disprove it,
but act as if they were but one. To Zachariah the
appeal " Where will you stop ? " was generally success-
ful. H his understanding told him he could not stop,
he went on. And yet it so often happens that if we
do go on we are dissatisfied ; we cannot doubt each
successive step, but we doubt the conclusion. We
arrive serenely at the end, and lo ! it is an absurdity
which common sense, as we call it, demolishes with scoffs
and laughter.

They had walked down to Holborn in order to avoid
the rather dangerous quarter of Gray's Inn Lane. Pre-
sently they were overtaken by the Secretary, staggering
imder more liquor. He did not recognise them, and
rolled on. The slioemaker instantly detached himself
from Zachariah and followed the drunken official. He
was about to turn into a public-house, when his friend
came up to him softly, abstracted a book which was
sticking out of his pocket, laid hold of him by the arm.

32 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

and marched off with him across the street and through
Great Turnstile.

Sunday came, and Zachariah and his wife attended
the services at Pike Street Meeting-house, conducted
by that worthy servant of God, the Reverend Thomas
Bradshaw. He was at that time preaching a series
of sermons on the Gospel Covenant, and he enlarged
upon the distinction between those with whom the
covenant was made and those with ivhom there was
none, save of judgment. The poorest and the weakest,
if they were sons of God, were more blessed than the
strongest who were not. These were nothing : " they
should go out like the smoke of a candle with an ill
favour ; whereas the weak and simple ones are upholden,
and go from strength to strength, and increase with
the increasings of God." Zachariah was rather con-
fused by what had happened during the week, and his
mind, especially during the long prayer, wandered a
good deal much to his discomfort.

CHAPTER III

The Theatre

Major Maitland was very fond of the theatre, and
as he had grown fond of Zachariah, and frequently
called at his house, sometimes on business and some-
times for pleasure, he often asked his friend to accompany
him. But for a long time he held out. The theatre
and dancing in 1814 were an abomination to the In-
dependents. Since 18 14 they have advanced, and
consequently they not only go to plays and dance like
other Christians, but the freer, less prejudiced, and
more enlightened encourage the ballet, spend their
holidays in Paris, and study French character there.
Zachariah, however, had a side open to literature, and
though he had never seen a play acted, he read plays.
He read Shakespeare, and had often thought how wonder-
ful one of his dramas must be on the stage. So it fell
out that at last he yielded, and it was arranged that
Mrs. and Mr. Coleman should go with the Major to
Drury Lane to see the great Edmund Kean in " Othello."
The day was fixed, and Mrs. Coleman was busy for a
long time beforehand in furbishing up and altering her
wedding-dress, so that she might make a decent figure.
She was all excitement, and as happy as she could well
be. For moiiths Zachariah had not known her to be
so communicative. She seemed to take an interest in
politics ; she discussed with him the report that Bona-
parte was mad, and Zachariah, on his part, told her
what had happened to him during the day, and what
he had read in the newspapers. The Prince Regent

33

34 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

had been to Oxford, and verses had been composed
in his honour. Mr. Bosanquet had recited to the Prince
an ode, or something of the kind, and had ventured,
after dilating on the enormous services rendered by kings
in general to the community during the last twenty
years, to warn them :

" But ye yourselves must bow : your praise be given
To Him, the Lord of lords, your King in heaven."

And Mrs. Zachariah, with a smile and unwonted wit,
wondered whether Mr. Bosanquet would not be pro-
secuted for such treasonable sentiments. Zachariah
hardly knew what to make of his wife's gaiety, but he
was glad. He thought that perhaps he was answerable
for her silence and coldness, and he determined at all
costs to try and amend, and, however weary he might
be when he came home at night, that he would speak
and get her to speak too.

The eventful evening arrived. Zachariah was to get
away as early as he could ; the Major was to call at
about six. After Zachariah had washed and dressed,
they were to take a hackney coach together. At the
appointed hour the Major appeared, and found Mrs.
Zachariah already in her best clothes and tea ready.
She was charming — finished from the uttermost hair
on her head to the sole of her slipper — and the dove-
coloured, somewhat Quakerish tint of her wedding-
gown suited her admirably. Quarter-past six came,
but there was no Zachariah, and she thought she would
make the tea, as he was never long over his meals.
Half-past six, and he was not there. The two now sat
down, and began to listen to every sound. The coach
was ordered at a quarter to seven.

" What shall we do ? " said the Major. " I cannot
send you on and wait for him."

" No. How vexing it is ! It is just like — - — " and
she stopped.

" We must stay where we are, I suppose ; it is rather
a pity to miss being there when Kean first comes on."

She was in a fretful agony of impatience. She rose
and looked out of the window, thought she heard some-

THE THEATRE 35

body on the stairs, went outside on the landing, returned,
walked up and down, and mentally cursed her husband,
not profanely — she dared not do that — but with curses
none the less intense. Poor man ! he had been kept
by a job he had to finish. She might have thought
this possible, and, in fact, did think it possible ; but
it made no difference in the hatred which she permitted
to rise against him. At last her animosity relaxed,
and she began to regard him with more composure,
and even with pleasure.

" Had you not better go and leave me here, so that
we may follow ? I do not know what has happened,
and I am sure he would be so sorry if you were to be
disappointed."

She turned her eyes anxiously towards the Major.
" That will never do. You know nothing about the
theatre. No ! no ! "

She paused and stamped her little foot, and looked
again out of the window.

The coachman knocked at the door, and when she
went down asked her how long he had to wait.

She came back, and throwing herself on a chair, fairly
gave way to her mortification, and cried out, "It is
too bad— too bad ! — it is, really."

" I'll tell you what," replied the Major. " Do you
mind coming with me ? We will leave one of the tickets
which I have bought, and we can add a message that
he is to follow, and that we will keep his place for him.
Put on your bonnet at once, and I will scribble a line
to him."

Mrs. Zachariah did not see any other course open ;
her wrath once more disappeared, and in another
moment she was busy before the looking-glass. The
note was written, and pinned to the ticket, both being
stuck on the mantelpiece in a conspicuous place, so
that Zachariah might see them directly he arrived.
In exuberant spirits she added in her own hand, " Make
as much haste as you can, my dear," and subscribed
her initials. It was a tremendously hot afternoon
and, what with the fire and the weather and the tea,
tie air was very oppre6si\e. She threw the bottom

36 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

sash open a little wider therefore, and the two rolled
off to Drury Lane. As the door slammed behind them,
the draught caught the ticket and note, and in a moment
they were in the flames and consumed.

Ten minutes afterwards in came Zachariah. He had
run all the way, and was dripping with perspiration.
He rushed upstairs, but there was nobody- He stared
round him, looked at the plates, saw that two had
been there, rushed down again, and asked the woman
in the shop :

" Has Mrs. Coleman left any message ? "

" No. She went off with that gentleman that comes
here now and then; but she never said nothing to me,"
and Zachariah thought he saw something like a grin on
her face.

It may be as well to say that he never dreamed of
any real injury done to him by his wife, and, in truth,
the Major was incapable of doing him any. He was gay,
unorthodox, a man who went about in the world, roman-
tic, republican, but he never would have condescended
to seduce a woman, and least of all a woman belonging
to a friend. He paid women whom he admired all kinds
of attentions, but they were nothing more than the
gallantry of the age. Although they were nothing,
however, to him, they were a good deal more than
nothing to Mrs. Zachariah. The sj'^mbolism of an act
varies much, and what may be mere sport to one is sin
in another. The Major's easy manners and very free
courtesy were innocent so far as he was concerned ;
but when his rigid, religious companion in the hackney
coach felt them sweet, and was better pleased with
them than she had ever been with her husband's caresses,
she sinned, and she knew that she sinned.

What curiously composite creatures we are ! Zach-
ariah for a moment was half pleased, for she had now
clearly wronged him. The next moment, however, he
was wretched. He took up the teapot ; it was empty ;
the tea-caddy was locked up. It was a mere trifle,
but, as he said to himself, the merest trifles are im-
portant if they are significant. He brooded, therefore,
over the empty teapot and locked tea-caddy for fully

THE THEATRE 37

five minutes. She had not only gone without him, but
had forgotten him. At the end of the five minutes
teapot and tea-caddy had swollen to enormous dimen-
sions and had become the basis of large generalisations.
" I would rather," he exclaimed, " be condemned to
be led out and hung if I knew one human soul would
love me for a week beforehand and honour me after-
wards, than live half a century and be nothing to any
living creature." Presently, however, it occurred to
him that, although in the abstract this might be true
yet at that particular moment he was a fool ; and he
made the best of his way to Drury Lane. He managed
to find his way into the gallery just as Kean came on
the stage in the second scene of the first act. Far down
below him, through the misty air, he thought he could
see his wife and the Major ; but he was in an instant
arrested by the play. It was all new to him ; the
huge building, the thousands of excited, eager faces,
the lights, and the scenery. He had not listened, more-
over, to a dozen sentences from the great actor before
he had forgotten himself and was in Venice, absorbed
in the fortunes of the Moor. What a blessing is this for
which we have to thank the playwright and his inter-
preters, to be able to step out of the dingy, dreary London
streets, with all their wretched corrosive cares, and
at least for three hours to be swayed by nobler passions.
For three hours the little petty self, with all its mean
surroundings, withdraws : we breathe a di.f erent at-
mosphere, we are jealous, glad, weep, laugh with Shakes-
peare's jealousy, gladness, tears, and laughter ! What
priggishness, too, is that which objects to Shakespeare
on a stage because no acting can realise the ideal formed
by solitary reading ! Are we really sure of it ? Are
we really sure that Garrick or Kean or Siddons, with
all their genius and study, fall short of a lazy dream in
an arm-chair ! Kean had not only a thousand things
to tell Zachariah — meanings in innumerable passages
which had before been overlooked — but he gave the
character of Othello such vivid distinctness that it
might almost be called a creation. He was exactly
the kind of actor, moieover, to impress him. He was

B

38 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

great, grand, passionate, overwhelming with a like
emotion the apprentice and the critic. Everybody
after listening to a play or reading a book uses it when
he comes to himself again to fill his own pitcher, and
the Cyprus tragedy lent itself to Zachariah as an illus-
tration of his own Clerkenwell sorrows and as a gospel
for them, although his were so different from those of
the Moor. Why did he so easily suspect Desdemona ?
Is it not improbable that a man with any faith in woman,
and such a woman, shpuld proceed to murder on such
evidence ? If Othello had reflected for a moment, he
would have seen that everj^thing might have been ex-
plained. Why did he not question, sift, examine,
before taking such tremendous revenge ? — and for the
moment the story seemed unnatural. But then he
considered again that men and women, if they do not
murder one another, do actually, in everyday life, for
no reason whatever, come to wrong conclusions about
each other ; utterly and to the end of their lines mis-
construe and lose each other. Nay, it seems to be a
kind of luxury to them to believe that those who could
and would love them are false to them. We make
haste to doubt the divinest fidelity ; we drive the dagger
into each other, and we smother the Desdemona who
would have been the light of life to us, not because of
any deadly difference or grievous injury, but because
we idly and wilfully reject.
The tale, evermore is :

" Of one whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe."

So said Zachariah to himself as he came out into
Drury Lane and walked eastwards. His wife and the
Major were back before him. The Major did not wait
but returned at once to Albany Street, leaving Mrs.
Coleman to sit up for her husband. He was not hurry-
ing himself, and could not free himself from the cro\vd
so easily as those who left from below. The consequence
was that he was a full half-hour behind her, and she
was not particularly pleased at having been kept so

THE THEATRE 39

long out of her bed. When she let him in all that she
said was, " Oh, here you are at last," and immediately
retired. Strange to say, she forgot all about family
worship — never before omitted, however late it might
be. If she had taken the trouble to ask him whether
he had seen her message and the ticket so much might
have been cleared up. Of course he, too, ought to have
spoken to her ; it was the natural thing to do, and it
was extraordinary that he did not. But he let her go ;
she knelt down by her bed, prayed her prayer to her
God, and in five minutes was asleep. Zachariah ten
minutes afterwards prayed his prayer to his God, and
lay down, but not to sleep. No sooner was his head on
his pillow than the play was before his eyes, and Othello,
Desdemona, and lago moved and spoke again for hours.
Then came the thoughts with which he had left the
theatre and the revulsion on reaching home. Burning
with excitement at what was a discovery to him, he had
entered his house with even an enthusiasm for his wife,
and an impatient desire to try upon her the experiment
which he thought would reveal so much to him and
make him wealthy for ever. But when she met him
he was struck dumb. He was shut up again in his old
prison, and what was so hopeful three hours before was
all vanity. So he struggled through the short night,
and, as soon as he could, rose and went out. This was
a frequent practice, and his wife was not surprised when
she woke to find he had gone. She was in the best of
spirits again, and when he returned, after offering him
the usual morning greeting, she inquired at once in what
part of the theatre he was, and why he had not used the
ticket.

" We waited for you till the last moment ; we should
have been too late if we had stayed an instant longer,
and I made sure you would come directly."

" Ticket — what ticket ? I saw no ticket ? "

" We left it on the mantelpiece, and there was a
message with it."

His face brightened, but he said nothing. A rush
of blood rose to his head ; he moved towards her and
kissed her.

40 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" What a wretch you must have thought me ! " she
said half laughingly, as she instantly smoothed her hair
again, which he had ruffled. " But what has become
6i the ticket ? "

" Fell in the fire most likely ; the window was open
when I came in, and the draught blew the picture over
the mantelpiece nearly off its hook."

The breakfast was the happiest meal they had had
for months. Zachariah did his best to overcome his
natural indisposition to talk. Except when he was
very much excited, he always found conversation with
his wife too difficult on any save the most commonplace
topics, although he was eloquent enough in company
which suited him. She listened to him, recalling with
great pleasure the events of the preceding evening.
She was even affectionate— affectionate for her — and
playfully patted his shoulder as he went out, warning
him not to be so late again. What was the cause of her
gaiety ? Was she thinking improperly of the Major ?
No. If she had gone with Zachariah alone to the theatre
would she have been so cheerful ? No. Did she really
think she loved her husband better ? Yes. The human
heart, even the heart of Mrs. Coleman, is beyond our
analysis.

CHAPTER IV

A Friend of the People

The Friends of the People continued tlieir meetings,
and Zachariah attended regularly, although, after about
three months' experience, he began to doubt whether
any advance was being made. The immediate subject
of discussion now was a projected meeting in Spitaliields,
and each branch of the Society was to organise its own
contingent. All this was perfectly harmless. There
was a good deal of wild talk occasionally ; but it mostly
came from Mr. Secretary, especially when he had had
his beer. One evening he had taken more than enough,
and was decidedly staggering as he walked down Lamb's
Conduit Street homewards. Zachariah was at some
distance, and in front of him, in close converse, were
his shoemaking friend, the Major, and a third man
whom he could not recognise. The Secretary swayed
himself across Holborn and into Chancery Lane, the
others following. Presently they came up to him,
passed him, and turned off to the left, leaving him to
continue his troubled voyage southwards. The night
air, however, was a little too much for him, and when
he got to Fleet Street he was under the necessity of
supporting himself against a wall. He became more
and more seditious as he became more and more muddled,
so that at last he attracted the attention of a constable
who laid hold of him and locked him up for the night.
In the morning he was very much surprised to find
himself in a cell, feeling very miserable, charged with
being drunk and disorderly, and, what was ten times

41

42 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

worse, with uttering blasphemy against the Prince
Regent. It may as well be mentioned here that the
greatest precautions had been taken to prevent any
knowledge by the authorities of the proceedings of the
Friends of the People. The Habeas Corpus Act was
not yet suspended, but the times were exceedingly
dangerous. The Friends, therefore, never left in a
body nor by the same door. Watch was always kept
with the utmost strictness, not only on the stairs, but
from a window which commanded the street. No
written summons was ever sent to attend any meeting,
ordinary or extraordinary. Mr. Secretary, therefore,
was much disconcerted when he found that his pockets
were emptied of all his ofhcial documents. He lan-
guished in his cell till about twelve o'clock, very sick
and very anxious, when he was put into a cab, and, to
his great surprise, instead of being taken to a police
court, was carried to Whitehall. There he was intro-
duced to an elderly gentleman, who sat at the head
of a long table covered with green cloth. A younger
man, apparently a clerk, sat at a smaller table by the
fire and wrote, seeming to take no notice whatever of
what was going on. Mr. Secretary expected to hear
something about transportation, and to be denounced
as an enemy of the human race ; but he was pleasantly
disappointed.

" Sorry to see a respectable person like you in such
a position."

Mr. Secretary wondered how the gentleman knew
he was respectable ; but was silent. He was not now in
an eloquent or seditious humour.

" You may imagine that we know you, or we should
not have taken the trouble to bring you here. We
should merely have had you committed for trial."

The Secretary thought of his empty pockets. In
truth it was the Major who had emptied them before
he crossed Holborn ; but of course he suspected the
constable.

" You must be aware that you have exposed yourself
to heavy penalties. I prefer, however, to think of you
as a well-meaning but misguided person. What good

A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE 43

do you think you can do ? I can assure you that the
Government are fully aware of the distress which pre-
vails, and will do all they can to alleviate it. If you
have any grievances, why not seek their redress by
legitimate and constitutional means ? "

The Secretary was flattered. He had never been
brought face to face with one of the governing classes
before. He looked round ; everything was so quiet,
so pacific ; there were no fetters nor thumbscrews ;
the sun was lighting up the park ; children were playing
in it, and the necessity for a revolution was not on that
particular spot quite apparent.

A messenger now entered carrying some sandwiches
and a little decanter of wine on a tray, covered with
the whitest of cloths.

" It struck me," continued the official, taking a sand-
wich and pouring out a glass of wine, " when I heard of
your arrest, that I should like myself to have a talk with
you. We really are most loth to proceed to extremities,
and you have, I understand, a wife and children. I
need not tell you what we could do with you if we liked.
Now, just consider, my friend. I don't want you to
give up one single principle ; but is it worth your while
to be sent to jail and to have your home broken up
merely because you want to achieve your object in the
wrong way, and in a foolish way ? Keep your principles ;
we do not object ; but don't go out into the road with
them. And you, as an intelligent man, must see that
you will not get what you desire by violence as soon as
you will by lawful methods. Is the difference between
us worth such a price as you will have to pay ? "

The Secretary hesitated ; he could not speak ; he
was very faint and nervous.

" Ah, you've had nothing to eat, I dare say."

The bell was rung, and was answered immediately.

" Bring some bread and cheese and beer."

The bread and cheese and beer were brought.

" Sit down there and have something ; I will go on
with my work, and we will finish our talk afterwards."

The Secretary could not eat much bread and cheese,
but he Urank the beer greedily.

44 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

When he had finished the clerk left the room. The
Commissioner — for he was one of the Commissioners of
His Majesty's Treasury — followed him to the door,
closed it, not without satisfying himself that the constable
was at his post outside, returned to his seat, opened his
drawer, saw that a pistol and five guineas were there,
and then began :

" Now, look here, my dear sir, let me speak plainly
with you and come to an understanding. We have
made inquiries about you ; we believe you to be a good
sort of fellow, and we are not going to prosecute you.
We do hope, however, that, should you hear anything
which is — well — really treasonable, you will let us know.
Treason, I am sure, is as dreadful to you as it is to me.
The Government, as I said before, are most desirous
of helping those who really deserve it ; and to prove
this, as I understand you are out of work, just accept
that little trifle."

The guineas were handed to Mr. Secretary, who looked
at them doubtfully. With the beer his conscience had
returned, and he broke out :

" If you want me to be a d d spy, d d if I do ! "

The Commissioner was not in the least disconcerted.

" Spy, my man ! — who mentioned the word ? The
money was offered because you haven't got a sixpence.
Haven't I told you you are not required to give up a
single principle ? Have I asked you to denounce a single
companion ? All I have requested you to do, as an
honest citizen, is to give me a hint if you hear of any-
thing which would be as perilous to you as to me."

The Secretary after his brief explosion felt flaccid.
He was subject to violent oscillations, and he looked
at the five guineas again. He was very weak — weak
naturally, and weaker through a long course of alcohol.
He was, therefore, prone to obscure, crooked, silly
devices, at any rate when he was sober. Half drunk
he was very bold ; but when he had no liquor inside
him he could not do what was straight. He had not
strength sufficient, if two courses were open, to cast
aside the one for which there were the fewer and less
conclusive reasons, and to take the proper path, as if

A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE 45

no other were before him. A sane, strong person is not
the prey of reasons : a person like Mr. Secretary can
never free himself from them, and after he has arrived
at some kind of determination is still uncertain and
harks back. With the roar of the flames of the Cities
of the Plain in his ears, he stops, and is half afraid that
it was his duty after all to stay and try and put them
out. The Secretary, therefore, pondered again. The
money was given on no condition that was worth any-
thing. For aught he knew, the Commissioner had his
books and papers already. He could take the guineas
and be just as free as he was before. He could even
give a part of it to the funds of the Friends. There
obtruded, moreover, visions of Newgate, and his hands
slowly crept to the coins.

" I am a Radical, sir, and I don't mind who knows
it."

" Nothing penal in that. Every man has a right to
his own political creed."

The fingers crept closer and touched the gold. ,

" If I thought you wanted to bribe me, I'd rot before
I had anything to do with you."

The Commissioner smiled. There was no necessity
to say anything more, for the guineas were disappearing
and finally, though slowly, chinked down into Mr.
Secretary's pocket.

The Commissioner held out his hand.

The Secretary before he took it looked loftier than
ever.

" I hope you understand me, sir, clearly."

" I do understand you clearly."

The Secretary shook the hand ; the Commissioner
went with him to the door.

" Show this gentleman downstairs."

The constable, without a look of surprise, went down-
stairs, and Mr. Secretary found himself in the street.

Mr. Commissioner drank another glass of wine, and
then pencilled something in a little memorandum book,
which he put under the pistol. The drawer had two
locks, and he carefully locked both with two little keys
attached to a ribbon which he wore round his neck.

CHAPTER V

The Horizon Widens

Jean Caillaud, shoemaker, whom we have met before,
commonly called John Kaylow, friend of the Major and
member of the Society of the Friends of the People,
was by birth a Frenchman. He had originally come to
this country in 1795, bringing with him a daughter,
Pauline, about four or five years old. Why he came
nobody knew, nor did anbody know who vi'as the mother
of the child. He soon obtained plenty of employment,
for he v/as an admirable workman, and learned to speak
English well. Pauline naturally spoke both English
and French. Her education was accomplished with
some difficulty, though it was not such a task as it might
have been, because Jean's occupation kept him at home ;
his house being in one of the streets in that complication
of httle alleys and thoroughfares to most Londoners
utterly unknown ; within the sound of St. Bride's
nevertheless, and lying about a hundred yards north
of Fleet Street. If the explorer goes up a court nearly
opposite Bouverie Street, he will emerge from a covered
ditch into one that is opened, about six feet wide. Pres-
ently the ditch ends in another and wider ditch running
east and west. The western one turns northward,
and then westward again, roofs itself over, squeezes
itself till it becomes little less than a rectangular pipe,
and finally discharges itself under an oil and colourman's
house in Fetter Lane. The eastern arm, strange to say,
suddenly expands, and one side of it, for no earthly
reason, is set back with an open space in front of it,

46

THE HORIZON WIDENS 47

partitioned by low palings. Immediately beyond, as
if in a fit of sudden contrition for such extravagance,
the passage or gutter contracts itself to its very narrowest
and, diving under a printing-office shows itself in Shoe
Lane. The houses in these trenches were not by any
means of the worst kind. In the aforesaid expan-
sion they were even genteel, or at any rate aspired to
be so, and each had its own brass knocker and kept its
front-door shut with decent sobriety and reticence. On
the top floor of one of these tenements lodged Jean
Caillaud and Pauline. They had three rooms between
them ; one was Jean's bedchamber, one Pauline's, and
one was workroom and living-room, where Jean made
ball-slippers and light goods — this being his branch of
the trade — and Pauline helped him. The workroom
faced the north, and was exactly on a level with an
innumerable multitude of red chimney-pots pouring
forth stinking smoke which, for the six winter months,
generally darkned the air during the whole day. But
occasionally Nature resumed her rights, and it was pos-
sible to feel that sky, stars, sun, and moon still existed,
and were not blotted out by the obscurations of what is
called civilised life. There canie, occasionally, wild
nights in October or November, with a gale from the
south-west and then, when almost everybody had gone
to bed and the fires were out, the clouds, illuminated
by the moon, rushed across the heavens, and the Great
Bear hung over the dismal waste of smutty tiles with
the same solemnity with which it hangs over the moun-
tains, the sea, or the desert. Early in the morning,
too, in sumnier, between three and four o'clock in June,
there were sights to be seen worth seeing. The distance
was clear for miles, and the heights of Highgate were
visible, proclaiming the gospel of a beyond and beyond
even to Kent's Court, and that its immediate surround-
ings were mercifully not infinite. The light made even
the nearest bit of soot-grimed, twisted, rotten brickwork
beautiful, and occasionally, but at very rare intervals,
the odour of London was vanquished, and a genuine
breath from the Brixton fields was able to find its way
uncontaminated across the river. Jean and Pauline

48 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

were, on the whole, fond of the court. They often
thought they would prefer the country, and talked about
it ; but it is very much to be doubted, if they had been
placed in Devonshire, whether they would not have
turned back uneasily after a time to their garret. They
both liked the excitement of the city, and the feeling
that they were so near to ever^i;hing that was stirring
in men's minds. The long stretch of lonely sea-shore
is all very well, very beautiful, and, maybe, very instruc-
tive to many people ; but to most persons half-an-hour's
rational conversation is much more profitable. Pauline
was not a particularly beautiful girl. Her hair was
black, and, although there was a great deal of it, it was
coarse and untidy. Her complexion was sallow — not
as clear as it might be — and underneath the cheek-bones
there were slight depressions. She had grown up with-
out an attachment, so far as her father knew, and indeed
so far as she knew. She had one redeeming virtue —
redeeming especially to Jean, who was with her alone so
much. She had an intellect, and it was one which
sought for constant expression ; consequently she was
never dull. If she was dull, she was ill. She had none
of that horrible mental constriction which makes some
English women so insupportably tedious. The last
thing she read, the last thing she thought, came out
with vivacity and force, and she did not need the stimu-
lus of a great excitement to reveal what was in her.
Living as she did at work side by side with her father all
day, she knew all his thoughts and read all his books.
Neither of them ever went to church. They were not
atheists, nor had they entirely pushed aside the religious
questions which torment men's minds. They believed
in what they called a Supreme Being, whom they thought
to be just and good ; but they went no further. They
were revolutionary, and when Jean joined the Friends
of the People, he and the INIajor and one other man
became a kind of interior secret committee, which really
directed the affairs of the branch. Companions they
had none, except the Major and one or two compatriots ;
but they were drawn to Zachariah, and Zachariah was
drawn to them, very soon after he became a member

THE HORIZON WIDENS 49

of the Society. The first time he went to Kent's Court
with Jean was one night after a meeting. The two
walked home together, and Zachariah turned in for an
hour, as it was but ten o'clock. There had been a grand
thanksgiving at St. Paul's that day. The Prince Regent
had returned thanks to Almighty God for the restora-
tion of peace. The Houses of Parliament were there,
with the Foreign Ambassadors, the City Corporation,
the Duke of Wellington, Field-Marshal Blucher, peer-
esses, and society generally. The Royal Dukes, Sussex,
Kent, York, and Gloucester, were each drawn by six
horses and escorted by a separate party of the Guards.
It took eight horses to drag the Prince himself to divine
service, and he, too, was encompassed by soldiers. Ar-
rived at the cathedral, he was marshalled to a kind of
pew surmounted by a lofty crimson-and-gold canopy.
There he sat alone, worshipped his Creator, and listened
to a sermon by the Bishop of Chester. Neither Jean nor
Pauline troubled themselves to go o-.it, and indeed it
would not have been of much use if they had tried ;
for it was by no means certain that Almighty God, who
had been so kind as to get rid of Napoleon, would not
permit a row in the streets. Consequently, every avenue
which led to the line of the procession was strictly blocked.
They heard the music from a distance, and although
they both hated Bonaparte, it had not a pleasant sound
in their ears. It was the sound of triumph over French-
men, and, furthermore, with all their dislike to the
tyrant, they were proud of his genius.

Walking towards Clerkenwell that evening, the
streets being clear, save for a number of drunken men
and women, who were testifying to the orthodoxy
of their religious and political faith by rolling about
the kennel in various stages of intoxication, Jean pressed
Zachariah to go upstairs with him. I'auline had pre-
pared supper for herself and her father, and a very frugal
meal it was, for neither of them could drink beer nor
spirits, and they could not afford wine. Pauline and
Zachariah were duly introduced, and Zachariah looked
around him. The room was not dirty, but it was extremely
unlike his own. Shoe-making implements and unfinished

50 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

jobs lay here and there without being " put away." An
old sofa served as a seat, and on it were a pair of lasts, a bit
of a French newspaper, and a plateful of small onions and
lettuce, vhich could not find a place on the little table.
Zachariah, upstairs in Rosoman Street, had often felt just
as if he were in his Sunday clothes and new boots.
He never could make out what was the reason for it.
There are some houses in which we are always uncom-
fortable. Our freedom is fettered, and we can no more
take our ease in them than in a glass and china shop.
We breathe with a sense of oppression, and the sur-
roundings are like repellant chevaux de frise. Zachariah
had no such feelings here. There was disorder, it is
true ; but, on the other hand, there was no polished
tea-caddy to stare at him and claim equal rights against
him, defying him to disturb it. He was asked to sit
upon the sofa, and in so doing upset the plateful of
salad upon the floor. Pauline smiled, was down upon
her knees in an instant, before he could prevent her,
picked up the vegetables and put them back again.
To tell the truth, they were rather dirty ; and she,
therefore, washed them in a hand-basin. Zachariah
asked her if she had been out that day.

" I ? — to go with the Lord Mayor and bless the
good God for giving us back Louis Bourbon ? No,
Mr. Coleman ; if the good God did give us Louis back
again, I wouldn't bless Him for it, and I don't think
He had much to do with it. So there were two reasons
tvhy I didn't go."

Zachariah was a little puzzled, a little shocked,
and a little out of his element.

I thought you might have gone to see the pro-
cession and hear the music."

" I hate processions. Whenever I see one, and
am squeezed and trampled on just because those fine
people may ride by, 1 am humiliated and miserable.
As for the music, I hate that too. It is all ahke, and
might as well be done by machinery. Come, you are
eating nothing. What conspiracy have you and my
father hatched to-night ? "

" Conspiracy 1 " said Jean. " Who are the con-

THE HORIZON WIDENS 51

spirators ? Not we. The conspirators are those thieves
who have been to St. Paul's "

■' To give thanks," said PauHne. "If I were up
there in the sky, shouldn't I laugh at them. How
comical it is ! Did they give thanks for Austerlitz
or Jena ? "

" That's about the worst of it," replied Jean. " It is
one vast plot to make the people believe lies. I shouldn't
so much mind their robbing the country of its money
to keep themselves comfortable, but what is the meaning
of their Te Dennis ? I tell you again," — and he repeated
the words with much emphasis — " it is a vast plot to
make men believe a lie. I abhor them for that ten times
more than for taking my money to replace Louis."

" Oh," resumed Pauline, " if 1 were only up in the
sky for an hour, I would have thundered and lightened
on them just as they got to the top of Ludgate Hill,
and scattered a score or so of them. I wonder if they
would have thanked Providence for their escape ?
O father, such a joke ! The Major told me the other
day of an old gentleman he knew who was riding along
in his carriage. A fireball fell and killed the coachman.
The old gentleman, talking about it afterwards, said
that " providentially it struck the box-seat."

Zachariah, although a firm believer in his faith,
and not a coward, was tempted to be silent. He was
heavy and slow in action, and this kind of company
was strange to him. Furthermore, Pauline was not
an open enemy, and notwithstanding her little blas-
phemies, she was attractive. But then he remembered
with shame that he was ordered to testify to the truth
wherever he might be, and unable to find anything
of his own by which he could express himself, a text
of the Bible came into his mind, and, half to himself,
he repeated it aloud :

" I form the light and create darkness : I make
peace and create evil ; I the Lord do all these things."

" What is that ? " said Jean. " Repeat it."

Zachariah slowly repeated it. He had intended
to add to it something which might satisfy his con-
science and rebuke I^auline, but he could not.

52 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" Whence is that ? " said Jean.

" From the Bible ; give me one and I will show it to
you."

There was no English Bible in the house. It was a
book not much used ; but Pauline presently produced
a French version, and Jean read the passage — " Qui
forme la lumi^re, et qui cree les ietiebres ; qui fait la paix,
et qui cree I'adversite ; c'est mot, I'Eternel, qui fais
toutes les cJioses Id."

Pauline bent over her father and read it again.

" ' Qui cree I'adversite,' " she said. " Do you believe
that ? "

" If it is there I do," said Zachariah.

" Well, I don't."

" What's adversity to hell fire ? If He made hell-
fire, why not adversity ? Besides, if He did not, who
did ? "

" Don't know a bit, and don't mean to bother my-
self about it."

" Right ! " broke in Jean — " right, my child ; bother
- — that is a good word. Don't bother yourself about
anything when— bothering will not benefit. There
is so much in the world which will— bear a botheration
out of which some profit will arise. Now, then, clear
the room, and let Zachariah see your art."

The plates and dishes were all put in a heap and
the table pushed aside. Pauline retired for a few
moments, and presently came back in a short dress
of black velvet, which reached about half-way down
from the knee to the ankle. It was trimmed with
red ; she had stuck a red artificial flower in her hair,
and had on a pair of red stockings with dancing slippers,
probably of her own make. Over her shoulders was
a light gauzy shawl. Her father took his station in
a corner, and motioned to Zachariah to compress him-
self into another. By dint of some little management
and piling up the chairs an unoccupied space of about
twelve feet square was obtained. Pauline began
dancing, her father accompanying her with an oboe.
It was a very curious performance. It was nothing like
ordinary opera-dancing, and equally unlike any move-

THE HORIZON WIDENS 53

ment ever seen at a ball. It was a series of graceful
evolutions with the shawl which was flung, now on one
shoulder and now on the other, each movement ex-
quisitely resolving itself, with the most perfect ease,
into the one following, and designed apparently to
show the capacity of a beautiful figure for poetic ex-
pression. Wave fell into wave along every line of her
body, and occasionally a posture was arrested, to pass
away in an instant into some new combination. There
was no definite character in the dance beyond mere
beauty. It was melody for melody's sake. A re-
markable change, too, came over the face of the per-
former. She looked serious ; but it was not a serious-
ness produced by any strain. It was rather the calm
which is found on the face of the statue of a goddess.
In none of her attitudes was there a trace of coquettish-
ness, although some were most attractive. One in
particular was so. She held a corner of the shawl high
above her with her right hand, and her right foot was
advanced so as to show her whole frame extended
excepting the neck ; the head being bent downward
and sideways.

Suddenly Jean ceased ; Pauline threw the shawl
over both her shoulders, made a profound curtsey,
and retired ; but in five minutes she was back again
in her ordinary clothes. Zachariah was in sore con-
fusion. He had never seen anything of the kind before.

He had been brought up in a school which would have
considered such an exhibition as the work of the devil.
He was distressed too to find that the old Adam was
still so strong within him that he detected a secret
pleasure in what he had seen. He would have liked
to have got up and denounced Jean and Pauline, but
somehow he could not. His great great grandfather
would have done it, beyond a doubt, but Zachariah
sat still.

" Did you ever perform in public ? " he asked.

" No. I was taught when I was very young ; but
I have never danced except to please father and his
friends."

Tiiis was a relief, and some kind of an excuse. Ho

54 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

felt not quite such a reprobate ; but again he reflected
that when he was looking at her he did not know that
she was not in a theatre every night in the week. He
expected that Jean would offer some further explana-
tion of the unusual accomplishment which his daughter
had acquired ; but he was silent, and Zachariah rose to
depart, for it was eleven o'clock. Jean apparently
was a little restless at the absence of approval on Zacha-
riah's part, and at last he said abruptly :

" What do you think of her ? "

Zachariah hesitated, and Pauline came to the rescue.

" Father, what a shame ! Don't put him in such an
awkward position."

" It was very wonderful," stammered Zachariah,
" but we are not used to that kind of thing."

" Who are the ' we ' ? " said Pauline. " Ah, of
course you are Puritans. I am a — what do you call
it ? — a daughter, no, that isn't it — a child of the devil.
I won't have that though. My father isn't the devil.
Even yoii wouldn't say that, Mr. Coleman. Ah, I have
no business to joke, you look so solemn ; you think
my tricks are satanic ; but what was it in your book,
' C'est tnoi, I'Eternel, qui fats toutes les choses Id' ?"
and as Zachariah advanced to the doors he made him
a bow with a grace which no lady of quality could have
surpassed.

He walked home with many unusual thoughts.
It was the first time he had ever been in the company
of a woman of any liveliness of temperament, and with
an intellect which was on equal terms with that of a
man. In his own Calvinistic Dissenting society' the
pious women who were members of the church took
little or no interest in the mental life of their husband.
They read no books, knew nothing of politics, were
astonishingly ignorant, and lived in their household
duties. To be with a woman who could stand up against
him was a new experience. Here was a girl to whom
every thought her father possessed was familiar !

But there was another experience. From his youth
upwards he had been trained with every weapon in
the chapel armoury, and yet he now found himself

THE HORIZON WIDENS 55

as powerless as the merest novice to prevent the very-
sinful occupation of dwelling upon every attitude of
Pauline, and outlining every one of her limbs. Do
what he might, her image was for ever before his eyes,
and reconstructed itself after every attempt to abolish
it, just as a reflected image in a pool slowly but in-
evitably gathers itself together again after each
disturbance of the water. When he got home, he
found, to his surprise, that his wife was still sitting
up. She had been to the weekly prayer-meeting,
and was not in a very pleasant temper. She was not
spiteful, but unusually frigid. She felt herself to
be better than her husband, and she asked him if he
could not arrange in future that his political meetings
might not interfere with his religious duties.

" Your absence, too, was noticed, and Mrs. Carver
asked me how it was that ]\Ir. Coleman could let me
go home alone. She offered to tell Mr. Carver to come
home with me ; but I refused."

Delightfully generous of Mrs. Carver ! That was
the sort of kindness for which she and many of her
Pike Street friends were so distinguished ; and Mrs.
Coleman not only felt it deeply, but was glad of the
opportunity of letting Mr. Coleman know how good the
Carvers were.

It was late, but Mrs. Coleman produced the Bible.
Zachariah opened it rather mechanically. They were
going regularly through it at family worship, and had
got into Numbers. The portion for that evening was
part of the 26th chapter : " And these are they that
were numbered of the Levites after their families ;
of Gershon, the family of the Gershonites : of Kohath,
the family of the Kohathites : of Merari, the family
of the Merarites," &c., &c. Zachariah, having read about
a dozen verses, knelt down and prayed ; but, alas,
even in his prayer he saw Pauline's red stockings.

The next morning his wife was more pleasant, and
even talkative — talkative, that is to say, for her.
Something had struck her.

" My dear," quoth she, as they sat at breakfast, " what
a pity it is that the Major is not a converted character I "

56 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

Zachariah could not but think so too.
" I have been wondering if we could get him to attend
our chapel. Who knows ? — some word might go to his
heart which might be as the seed sown on good
ground."

" Have you tried to convert him yourself ? "
" Oh no, Zachariah ! I don't think that would be
quite proper."

She screwed up her lips a little, and then, looking
down at her knees very demurely, smoothed her apron.
" Why not, my dear ? Surely it is our duty to
testify to the belief that is in us. Poor Christiana,
left alone, says, as you will remember, ' O neighbour,
knew you but as much as I do, I doubt not but that
you would go with me.' "

" Ah, yes, that was all very well then." She again
smoothed her apron. " Besides, you know," she
added suddenly, "there were no public means of grace
in the City Of Destruction. Have you said anything
to the Major ? "
"No."

She did not push her advantage, and the unpleasant
fact again stood before Zachariah' s eyes, as it had
stood a hundred times before them lately, that when
he had been with sinners he had been just what
they were, barring the use of profane language. What
had he done for his master with the Major, with Jean,
and with Pauline ? — and the awful figure of the Crucified
seemed to rise before him and rebuke him. He was
wretched : he had resolved over and over again to
break out against those who belonged to the world,
to abjure them and all their works. Somehow or other,
though, he had not done it.

" Suppose," said Mrs. Zachariah, " we were to ask
the Major here on Sunday afternoon to tea, and to
chapel afterwards."

" Certainly." He was rather pleased with the
proposition. He would be able to bear witness in
this way at any rate to the truth.

" Perhaps we might at the same time ask Jean Caillaud,
his friend. Would to God " — his wife started — " would

THE HORIZON WIDENS 57

to God," he exclaimed fervently, " that these men
could be brought into the Church of Christ ! "

" To be sure. Ask Mr. Caillaud, then, too."

" If we do, we must ask his daughter also ; he would
not go out without her."

" I was not aware he had a daughter. You never
told me anything about her."

" I never saw her till the other evening."

" I don't know anything of her. She is a foreigner
too. I hope she is a respectable young person."

" I know very little ; but she is more English than
foreign. Jean has been here a good many years, and
she came over when she was quite young. I think she
must come."

" Very well." And so it was settled.

Zachariah that night vowed to his Redeemer that,
come what might, he would never again give Him
occasion to look at him with averted face and ask if he
was ashamed of Him. The text ran in his ears : " Who-
soever therefore shall be ashamed oj me and of My words
in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall
the Son of man be ashamed, when He cometh in the glory
of His Father with the holy angels."

CHAPTER VI

Tea X La Mode

Sunday afternoon came. It was the strangest party.
J. ^aii..t, on being introduced to Mrs. Coleman, made a
profound curtsey, which Mrs. Coleman returned by an
inclination of her head, as if she consented to recognise
Pauline, but to go no further. Tea was served early, as
chapel began at half-past six. Mrs. Coleman, although
it was Sunday, was very busy. She had made hot
buttered toast, and she had bought some muffins, but
had appeased her conscience by telling the boy that she
would not pay for them till Monday. The milk was
always obtained on the same terms. She also purchased
some water-cresses ; but the water-cress man demanded
prompt cash settlement, and she was in a strait. At
last the desire for the water-cresses prevailed, and she
said :

" How much ? "

" Three-halfpence."

" Now, mind I give you twopence for yourself — mind
I give it you. I do not approve of buying and selling on
Sunday. We will settle about the other ha'porth another
time." *

" All right, ma'am ; if you like it that way, it's no
odds to me ; " and Mrs. Coleman went her way upstairs
really believing that she had prevented the commission
of a crime.

Let those of us cast the stone who can take oath that
in their own morality there is no casuistry. Probably
ours is worse than hers, because hers was traditional and
ours is self-manufactured.

58

TEA A LA MODE 59

Everything being at last in order, Mrs. Coleman,
looking rather warm, but still very neat and very charm-
ing, sat at the head of the table, with her back to the
fireplace ; the Major was on her right, Jean on her left,
Pauline next to him, and opposite to her Zachariah.
Zachariah and his wife believed in asking a blessing on
their food ; but, curiously enough, in 18 14, even amongst
the strictest sort, it had come to be the custom not to
ask it at breakfast or tea, but only at dinner ; although
breakfast and tea in those days certainly needed a bless-
ing as much as dinner, for they were substantial meals.
An exception was made in favour of public tea-meetings.
At a public tea-meeting a blessing was always asked and
a hymn was always sung.

For some time nothing remarkable was said. The
weather was very hot, and Mrs. Coleman complained.
It had been necessary' to keep up a fire for the sake of the
kettle. The Major promptly responded to her confession
of faintness by opening the window wider, by getting a
shawl to put over the back of her chair ; and these little
attentions she rewarded by smiles and particular watch-
fulness over his plate and cup. At last he and Jean fell
to talking about the jubilee which was to take place on
the first of the next month to celebrate the centenary
of the " accession of the illustrious family of Brunswick
to the throne "• — so ran the public notice. There was
to be a grand display in the parks, a sham naval action
on the Serpentine, and a balloon ascent.

" Are you going, Caillaud ? " said the Major. " It
will be a holiday."

" We," cried Pauline — " we ! I should think not.
We go to rejoice over your House of Brunswick ; and it
is to be the anniversary of your battle of the Nile too !
We go ! No, no."

" What's your objection to the House of Brunswick ?
And as for the battle of the Nile, you are no friend to
Napoleon." So replied the Major, who always took a
pleasure in exciting Pauline.

" The House of Brunswick ! Why should we thank
God for them ; thank God for the stupidest race that ever
sat upon a throne ; thank God for stupidity — and in a

6o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S .LANE

king, Major ? God, the Maker of the sun and stars —
to call upon the nation to bless Him for your Prince
Regent. As for the Nile, I am, as you say, no friend to
Napoleon, but I am French. It is horrible to me to
think — I saw him the other day — that your Brunswick
Prince is in London and Napoleon is in Elba."

"God, after all," said the Major, laughing, " is not
so hostile to stupidity, then, as you suppose."

" Ah ! don't plague me. Major ; that's what 5'ou are
always trying to do. I'm not going to thank the
Supreme for the Brunswicks. I don't believe He wanted
them here."

Pauline's religion was full of the most lamentable
inconsistencies, which the Major was very fond of expos-
ing, but without much effect, and her faith was restored
after every assault with wonderful celerity. By way of
excuse for her we may be permitted to say that a per-
fectly consistent, unassailable creed, in which conclusion
follows from premiss is unimpeachable order, is impos-
sible. We cannot construct such a creed about any
man or woman we know, and least of all about the
universe. We acknowledge opposites which we have
no power to bring together ; and Pauline, although she
knew nothing of philosophy, may not have been
completely wrong with her Supreme who hated the
Brunswicks and nevertheless sanctioned Carlton
House.

Pauline surprised ]\Irs. Zachariah considerably. A
woman, and more particularly a young woman, even
supposing her to be quite orthodox, who behaved in that
style amongst the members of Pike Street, would have
been like a wild seagull in a farm-yard of peaceful, cluck-
ing, brown-speckled fowls. All the chapel maidens and
matrons, of course, were serious ; but their seriousness
was decent and in order. Mrs. Coleman was therefore
scandalised, nervous, and dumb. Jean, as his manner
was when his daughter expressed herself strongly, was
also silent. His love for her was a consuming, hungry
fire. It utterly extinguished all trace, not merely of
selfishness, but of self, in him, and he was perfectly
content, when Pauline spoke well, to remain quiet, and

TEA A LA MODE 6i

not allow a word of his to disturb the effect which he
thought she ought to produce.

The Major, as a man of the world, thought the con-
versation was becoming a little too metaphysical, and
asked Mrs. Coleman gaily if she would like to see the
fete.

" Really, I hardly know what to say. I suppose "
— and this was said with a peculiar acidity — ■" there is
nothing wrong in it ? Zachariah, my dear, would you
like to go ? "

Zachariah did not reply. His thoughts were elsewhere.
But at last the spirit moved in him :

" Miss Pauline, your Supreme Being won't help you
very far. There is no light save in God's Holy Word.
God hath concluded them all in unbelief that He might
have mercy upon all. As by one man's disobedience
many were made sinners, so by the obedience of One
shall many be made righteous. That is the explanation ;
that is the gospel. God allows all this wickedness that
His own glory may be manifested thereby, and His own
love in sending Jesus Christ to save us : that, as sin hath
reigned unto death, even so might grace reign through
righteousness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord.
Do you ask me why does God wink at the crimes of kings
and murderers ? What if God, willing to show His
wrath, and to make His power known, endured with
much long-suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruc-
tion, and that He might make known the riches of His
glory on the vessels of mercy which He had afore pre-
pared unto glory, even us whom He had called ? Miss
Pauline, the mere light of human reason will never save
you or give you peace. Unless you 1:)elieve God's Word
you are lost ; lost here and hereafter ; lost here even,
for until you believe it you wander in a fog of ever deepen-
ing confusion. All is dark and inexplicable."

Being very much excited, he used largely the words
of St. Paul, and not his own. How cleai it all seemed
to him, how indisputable ! Childish association and
years of imquestioning repetition gave an absolute cer-
tainty to what was almost unmeaning to other people.

Mrs. Zachariah, although she had expressed a strong

62 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

desire for the Major's conversion, and was the only other
representative of the chapel present, was very fidgety
and uncomfortable during this speech. She had an ex-
quisite art, which she sometimes practised, of dropping
her husband, or rather bringing him down. So, when
there was a pause, everybody being moved at least by
his earnestness, she said :

" My dear, will you take any more tea ? "

He was looking on the table-cloth, with his head on
his hands, and did not answer.

" Major Maitland, may I give you some more tea ? "

" No, thank you." The Major too was impressed—
more impressed than the lady who sat next to him, and
she felt rebuffed and annoyed. To Pauline, Zachariah
had spoken Hebrew ; but his passion was human, and
her heart leapt out to meet him, although she knew not
what answer to make. Her father was in the same
position ; but the Major's case was a little different.
He had certainly at some time or other read the Epistle
to the Romans, and some expressions were not entirely
unfamiliar to him.

" ' Vessels of wrath fitted to destruction ! ' — a strong
and noble phrase. Who are your vessels of wrath,
Coleman ? "

Caillaud and Pauline saw a little light, but it was
speedily eclipsed again.

" The unregenerate."

" Who are they ? "

" Those whom God has not called."

" Castlereagh, Liverpool, Sidmouth, and the rest of
the gang, for example ? "

Zachariah felt that the moment had come.

" Yes, yes ; but not only they. More than they.
God help me if I deny the Cross of Christ — all of us into
whose hearts God's grace has not been poured — we,
you, all of us, if we have not been born of the Spirit and
redeemed by the sacrifice of His Son."

Zachariah put in the " us " and the " we," it will be
observed. It was a concession to blunt the sharpness
of that dreadful dividing-line.

" We ? Not yourself, Caillaud, and Pauline ? '*

TEA A LA MODE 63

He could not face the question. Something within
him said that he ought to have gone further*; that he
eight to have singled out the Major, Caillaud, and
Pauline ; held them fast, looked straight into their eyes,
and told them each one there and then that they were
in the bonds of iniquity, sold unto Satan, and in danger
of hell-fire. But, alas ! he was at least a century and a
half too late. He struggled, wrestled, self against self,
and failed, not through want of courage, but because he
wanted a deeper conviction. The system was still the
same, even to its smallest details, but the application
had become difficult. The application, indeed, was a
good deal left to the sinner himself. That was the differ-
ence. Phrases had been invented or discovered which
served to express modern hesitation to bring the accepted
doctrine into actual, direct, week-day practice. It was
in that way that it was gradually bled into impotence.
One of these phrases came into his mind. It was from
his favourite author :

" ' Who art thou that judgest ? ' It is not for me,
Major Maitland."

Ah, but, Zachariah, do you not remember that Paul
is not speaking of those who deny the Lord, but of the
weak in faith ; of differences in eating and drinking, and
the observation of days ? Whether he remembered it or
not, he could say no more. Caillaud, the Major, Pauline,
condemned to the everlasting consequences of the wrath
of the Almighty ! He could not pronounce such a sen-
tence, and yet his conscience whispered that just for
want of the last nail in a sure place what he had built
would come tumbling to the ground. During the con-
versation the time had stolen away, and, to their horror,
Zachariah and his wife discovered that it was a quarter-
past six. He hastily informed his guests that he had
hoped they would attend him to his chapel. Would they
go ? The Major consented. He had nothing particular
on hand, but Caillaud and Pauline refused. Zachariah
was particularly urgent that these two should accom-
pany him, but they were steadfast, for all set religious
performances were hateful to them.

" No, Coleman, no more ; I know what it all means."

64 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" And I," added Pauline, " cannot sit still with so
many respectable people ; I never could. I have been
to church,- and always felt impelled to do something
peculiar in it which would have made them turn me out.
I cannot, too, endure preaching. I cannot tolerate that
man up in the pulpit looking down over all the people —
so wise and so self-satisfied. I want to pull him out and
say, ' Here, you, sir, come here and let me see if you can
tell me two or three things I want to know.' Then,
Mr. Coleman, I am never well in a great building, especi-
ally in a church ; I have such a weight upon my head
as if the roof were resting on it."

He looked mournfully at her, but there was no time
to remonstrate. Mrs. Zachariah was ready, in her Sun-
day best of sober bluish cloud-colour. Although it was
her Sunday best, there was not a single thread of finery
on it, and there was not a single crease nor spot. She
bade Caillaud and Pauline good-bye with much cheerful-
ness, and tripped downstairs. The Major had preceded
her, but Zachariah lingered for a moment with the other
two.

" Come, my dear, make haste, we shall be so late."

" Go on with the Major ; I shall catch you in a mo-
ment ; I walk faster than you. I must close the
window a trifle, and take two or three of the coals off
the fire."

Caillaud and Pauline lingered too. The three were
infinitely nearer to one another than they knew. Zacha-
riah thought he was so far, and yet he was so close. The
man rose up behind the Calvinist, and reached out arms
to touch and embrace his friends.

" Good-bye, Caillaud ; good-bye, Pauline ! May
God in His mercy bless and save you. God bless
you ! "

Caillaud looked steadfastly at him for a moment,
and then, in his half -forgotten French fashion, threw
his arms round his neck, and the two remained for a
moment locked together, Pauline standing by herself
apart. She came forward, took Zachariah's hand,
when it was free, in both her own, held her head back
a little, as if for clearness of survey, and said slowly.

TEA A LA MODE 65

" God bless you, Mr. Coleman." She then went down-
stairs. Her father followed her, and Zachariah went
after his wife and the Major, whom, however, he did
not overtake till he reached the chapel door, where
they were both waiting for him.

C ^APTER VII

Jephthah

The Reverend Thomas Bradshaw, of Pike Street Meet-
ing-House, was not a descendant from Bradshaw the
regicide, but claimed that he belonged to the same
family. He was in 1814 about fifty years old, and
minister of one of the most important churches in the
eastern part of London. He was tall and spare, and
showed his height in the pulpit, for he always spoke
without a note, and used a small Bible, which he held
close to his eyes. He was a good classical scholar, and
he understood Hebrew, too, as well as few men in that
day understood it. He had a commanding figure, ruled
his church like a despot ; had a crowded congregation,
of which the larger portion was masculine ; and believed
in predestination and the final perseverance of the
saints. He was rather unequal in his discourses, for
he had a tendency to moodiness, and, at times, even to
hypochondria. When this temper was upon him he
was combative or melancholy ; and sometimes, to tire
disgust of many who came from all parts of London to
listen to him, he did not preach in the proper sense of
the word, but read a chapter, made a comment or two
upon it, caused a hymn to be sung, and then dismissed
his congregation with the briefest of prayers. Although
he took no active part in politics, he was republican
through and through, and never hesitated for a moment
in those degenerate days to say what he thought about
any scandal. In this respect he differed from his fellow-
ministers, who. under the pretence of increasing zeal for

66

JEPHTHAH 67

religion, had daily fewer and fewer points of contact
with the world outside. Mr. Bradshaw had been
married when he was about thirty ; but his wife died
in giving birth to a daughter, who also died', and for
twenty years he had been a widower, with no thought of
changing his condition. He was understood to have
peculiar opinions about second marriages, although he
kept them very much to himself. One thing, however,
was known, that for a twelve m^onth after the death of
his wife he was away from England, and that he came
back an altered man to his people in Bedfordshire,
where at that time he was settled. His discourses were
remarkably strong, and of a kind seldom, or indeed
never, heard now. They taxed the whole mental
powers of his audience, and were utterly unlike th^
simple stuff which became fashionable with the Evangel-
istic movement. Many of them, taken down by some
of his hearers, survive in manuscript to the present day.
They will not, as a rule, bear printing, because the
assumption on which they rest is not now assumed ;
but if it be granted, they are unanswerable ; and it is
curious that even now and then, although they are
never for a moment anything else than a strict deduc-
tion from what we in the latter half of the century
consider unproven or even false, they express themselves
in the same terms as the newest philosophy. Occasion-
ally too, more particularly when he sets himself the
task of getting into the interior of a Bible character, he
is intensely dramatic, and what are shadows to the
careless reader become living human beings, with the
reddest of blood visible under their skin.

On this particular evening Mr. Bradshaw took the
story of Jephthah's daughter : — " The Spirit of the
Lord came upon Jephthah." Here is an abstract of
his discourse. " It was the Spirit of the Lord, not-
withstanding what happened. I beg you also to note
that there is a mistranslation in our version. The
Hebrew has it, ' Then it shall be, that whosoever ' — not
whatsoever — ' cometh forth of the doors of my house to
meet me, when I return in peace from the children of
Ammon, shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer

68 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

him ' — not it — ' up for a burnt-offering.' Nevertheless
I believe my text — it zvas the Spirit of the Lord. This
Hebrew soldier was the son of a harlot. He was driven
by his brethren out of his father's house. Ammon
made war upon Israel, and in their distress the elders
of Israel went to fetch Jephthah. Mark, my friends,
God's election. The children of the lawful wife are
passed by, and the child of the harlot is chosen. Jeph-
thah forgets his grievances and becomes captain of the
host. Ammon is over against them. Jephthah 's rash
vow — this is sometimes called. I say it is not a rash
vow. It may be rash to those who have never been
brought to extremity by the children of Ammon — to
those who have not cared whether Ammon or Christ
wins. Men and women sitting here in comfortable
pews "■ — this was said with a kind of snarl — " may talk
of Jephthah's rash vow. God be with them, what do
they know of the struggles of such a soul ? It does not
say so directly in the Bible, but we are led to infer it,
that Jephthah was successful because of his vow. ' The
Lord delivered them into liis hands.' He would not
have done it if He had been displeased with the ' rash
vow ' " (another snarl). " He smote them from Aroer
even till thou come to Minnith. Ah, but what follows ?
The Omnipotent and Omniscient might have ordered
it, surely, that a slave might have met Jephthah. Why,
in His mercy, did He not do it ? Who are we that we
should question what He did ? But if we may not
inquire too closely into His designs, it is permitted us,
my friends, when His reason accords with, ours, to try
and show it. Jephthah had played for a great stake.
Ought the Almighty — let us speak it with reverence —
to have let him off with an ox, or even with a serf ? I
say that if we are to conquer Ammon we must pay for
it, and we ought to pay for it. Yes, and perhaps God
wanted the girl — who can tell ? Jephthah comes back
in triumph. Let me read the passage to you : — ' Behold
his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and
with dances : and she was his only child : beside her he
had neither son nor daughter. And it came to pass,
when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, and said,

JEPHTHAH 69

Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought me very low,
and thou art one of them that trouble me : for I have
opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go
back.' Now, you read poetry, I dare say — what you
call poetry. I say in all of it — all, at least, I have seen
— -nothing comes up to that. ' She was his only child :
beside her he had neither son nor daughter.' " — (Mr.
Bradshaw's voice broke a little as he went over the
words again with great deliberation and infinite pathos.)
— " The inspired writer leaves the fact just as it stands,
and is content. Inspiration itself can do nothing to
make it more touching than it is in its own bare naked-
ness. There is no thought in Jephthah of recantation,
nor in the maiden of revolt, but nevertheless he has his
•own sorrow. He is brought very low. God does not
rebuke him for his grief. He knows well enough, my
•dear friends, the nature which He took upon Himself —
nay, are we not the breath of His nostrils, created in
His image ? He does not anywhere, therefore, I say,
forbid that we should e\^en break our hearts over those
we love and lose. She asks for two months by herself
upon the mountains before her death. What a time
for him ! At the end of the two months God held him
still to his vow ; he did not shrink ; she submitted, and
was slain. But you will want me to tell you in con-
clusion where the gospel is in all this. Gospel ! I say
that the blessed gospel is in the Old Testament as well
as in the New. I say that the Word of God is one, and
that His message is here this night for you and me, as
•distinctly as it is at the end of the sacred volume.
Observe, as I have told you before, that Jephthah is
the son of the harlot. He hath mercy on whom He
wiJl have mercy. He calls them His people who are
not His people ; and He calls her beloved which was
not beloved. God at any rate is no stickler for heredit-
ary rights. Moreover, it does not follow because you,
my hearers, have God-fearing parents, that God has
■elected you. He may liave chosen, instead of you,
instead of me, the wretchedest creature outside, whose
rags we will not touch. But to what did God elect
Jephthah ? To a respectable, easy, decent existence,

C

70 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

with money at interest, regular meals, sleep after them;,
and unbroken rest at night ? He elected him to that
tremendous oath and that tremendous penalty. He
elected him to the agony he endured while she was
away upon the hills ! That is God's election ; an elec-
tion to the cross and to the cry, ' Eli, Eli, lama Sabach-
thani.' ' Yes,' you will say, ' but He elected him to
the victory over Ammon. Doubtless He did ; but
what cared Jephthah for his victory over Ammon when
she came to meet him, or, indeed, for the rest of his
life ? What is a victory, what are triumphal arches
and the praise of all creation to a lonely man ? Be
sure, if God elects you, He elects you to suffering.
Whom He loveth He chasteneth, and His stripes are
not play-work. Ammon will not be conquered unless-
your heart be well nigh broken. I tell j^ou, too, as
Christ's minister, that you are not to direct your course
according to your own desires. You are not to say,
' I will give up this and that so that I may be saved. *"
Did not St. Paul wish himself accursed from Christ foir
his brethren ? If God should command you to go
down to the bottomless pit in fulfilment of His blessed
designs, it is your place to go. Out with self — I was
about to say this damned self ; and if Israel calls, if
Christ calls, take not a sheep or ox — that is easy enough
— but take your choicest possession, take your own.
heart, your own blood, your very self, to the altar."

During the sermon the Major was much excited.
Apart altogether from the effect of the actual words-
spoken, Mr. Bradshaw had a singular and contagious
power over men. The three, Mrs. Coleman, the Major,
and Zachariah, came out together. Mrs. Zachariah
stayed behind in the lobby for some female friend to
whom she wished to speak about a Sunday-school tea-
meeting which was to take place that week. The other
two stood aside, ill at ease, amongst the crowd pressing
out into the street. Presently Mrs. Coleman found her
friend, whoni she at once informed that Major Maitland
and her husband were waiting for her, and that there-
fore she had not a nioment to spare. That little triumph
accomplished, slie had nothing of importance to say

JEPHTHAH 71

about the tea-meeting, and rejoined her party with
great good-humour. She walked between the Major
and Zachariah, and at once asked the Major how he
" enjoyed the service." The phrase was very unpleasant
to Zachariah, but he was silent.

" Well, ma'am," said the Major, " Mr. Bradshaw is
a very remarkable man. It is a long time since any
speaker stirred me as he did. He is a born orator, if
ever there was one."

" I could have wished," said Zachariah, " as you are
not often in chapel, that his sermon had been founded
on some passage in the New Testament which would
have given him the opportunity of more simply expound-
ing the gospel of Christ."

" He could not have been better, I should think.
He went to my heart, though it is rather a difficult
passage in the case of a man about town like me ; and
I tell you what, Coleman, he made me determine I
would read the Bible again. What a story that is ! "

" Major, I thank God if you will read it ; and not for
the stories in it, save as all are part of one story — the
story of God's redeeming mercy."

The Major made no reply, for the word was unwinged.

Mrs. Zachariah was silent, but when they came to
their door both she and her husband pressed him to-
come in. He refused, however ; he would stroll home-
ward, he said, and have a smoke as he went.

" He touched me, Coleman, he did. I thought,
between you and me " — and he spoke softly — " I had
not now got such a tender place ; I thought it was all
healed over long ago. I cannot come in. You'll excuse
me. Yes, I'll just wander back to Piccadilly. I could
not talk."

They parted, and Zachariah and his wife went up-
stairs. Their supper was soon ready.

" Jane," lie said slowly, " I did not receive much
assistance from you in my endeavours to bring our
friends to a knowledge of the truth. I thought that,
as you desired the attempt, you would have helped me
a little."

" There is a reason for everything ; and, what is more.

72 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

I do not consider it right to take up>on myself what
belongs to a minister. It may do more harm than
good."

" Take upon yourself what belongs to a minister !
]\Iy dear Jane, is nobody but a minister to bear witness
for the Master ? "

" Of course I did not mean to say that ; you know I
did not. Why do you catch at my words ? Perhaps,
if you had not been quite so forward, Mr. Caillaud and
his daughter might have gone to chapel."

After supper, and when he was alone, Zachariah sat
for some time without moving. He presently rose and
opened the Bible again, which lay on the table — the
Bible which belonged to his father — and turned to the
liy-leaf on which was written the family history. There
was the record of his father's marriage, dated on the
day of the event. There was the record of his own
birth. There was the record of his mother's death,
s'cill in his father's writing, but in an altered hand, the
letters not so distinct, and the strokes crooked and
formed with difficulty. There was the record of
Zachariah's own marriage. A cloud of shapeless, in-
articulate sentiment obscured the man's eyes and brain.
He could not define what he felt, but he did feel. He
could not bear it, and he shut the book, opening it again
at the twenty-second Psalm — the one which the disciples
of Jesus called to mind on the night of the crucifixion.
It was one which Mr. Bradshaw often read, and Zachariah
had noted in it a few corrections made in the translation :

" My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me ?
. . . Our fathers trusted in Thee ; they trusted, and
Thou didst deliver them. . . . Be not far from m.e ; for
trouble is near ; for there is none to help. . . . Be Thoti
not far from me, O Lord : O my strength, haste Thee to
help me. . . . Save me from the lion's month : and from
the horns of the wild oxen Thou hast answered me."

" From the horns of the wild oxen " — that correction
had often been precious to Zachariah. When at the
point of being pinned to the ground — so he understood
it — help had arisen ; risen up from the earth, and might
again arise. It was upon the first part of the text he

JEPHTHAH 73

dwelt now. It came upon him with fearful distinctness
that he was alone — that he could never hope for sym-
pathy from his wife as long as he lived. Mr. Bradshaw's
words that evening recuncd to him. God's purpose in
choosing to smite Jephthah in that way was partly
intelligible, and, after all, Jephthah was elected to
redeem his country too. But what could be God's
purpose in electing one of his servants to indifference
and absence of affection where he had a right to expect
it ? Could anybody be better for not being loved ?
Even Zachariah could not think it possible. But Mr.
Bradshaw's words again recurred. Who was he that
he should question God's designs ? It might be part
of the Divine design that he, Zachariah Coleman, should
not be made better by anything. It might be part of
that design, part of a fulfilment of a plan devised by
the Infinite One, that he should be broken, nay, perhaps
not saved. Mr. Bradshaw's doctrine that night was
nothing new. Zachariah had believed from his child-
hood, or had thought he believed, that the potter had
power over the clay — of the same lump to make one
vessel unto honour and another unto dishonour ; and
that the thing formed unto dishonour could not reply
and say to him that formed it : ' Why hast thou made
me thus ? ' Nevertheless, to believe it generally was
one thing ; to believe it as a truth for him was another.
Darkness, the darkness as of the crucifixion night.
seemed over and around him. Poor wretch ! he thought
he was struggling with his weakness ; but he was in
reality struggling against his own strength. Why had
God so decreed ? Do what he could, that fatal why,
the protest of his reason, asserted itself ; and yet he
cursed himself for permitting it, believing it to be a sin.
He walked about his room for some relief. He looked
out of the window. It was getting late ; the sky was
clearing, as it does in London at that hour, and he saw
the stars. There was nothing to help him there. They
mocked him rather with their imperturbable, obstinate
stillness. At last he turned round, fell upon his knees,
and poured out himself before his Maker, entreating
Him for light. He rose from the ground, looked again

74 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

out of the window, and the first flush of the morning
was just visible. Light was coming to the world in
obedience to the Divine command, but not to him.
He was exhausted, and crept into his bedroom, un-
dressing without candle, and without a sound. For a
few minutes he thought he should never sleep again,
save in his grave ; but an unseen Hand presently touched
him, and he knew nothing till he was awakened by the
broad day streaming over him.

CHAPTER VIII

Unconventional Justice

In December, 1814, a steamboat was set in motion on
the Limehouse Canal, the Lord Mayor and other dis-
tinguished persons being on board In the same month
Joanna Southcott died She had announced that on
the 19th October she was to be dehvered of the Prince
of Peace, although she was then sixty years old. Thous-
ands of persons believed her, and a cradle was made.
The Prince of Peace did not arrive, and in a little more
than two months poor Joanna had departed, the cause
of her departure having being certified as dropsy.
Death did not diminish the number of her disciples, for
they took refuge in the hope of her resurrection. " The
arm of the Lord is not shortened," they truly affirmed ;
and even to this day there are people who are waiting
for the fulfilment of Joanna's prophecies and the ap-
pearance of the " second Shiloh." Zachariah had been
frequently twitted in joke by his profane companions
in the printing-office upon his supposed belief in the
delusion. It was their delight to assume that all the
" pious ones," as they called them, were alike ; and
on the morning of the 30th of December, the day after
Joanna expired, they were more than usually tormenting.
Zachariah did not remonstrate. In his conscientious
eagerness to bear witness for his Master, he had often
tried his hand upon his mates ; but he had never had the
smallest success, and had now desisted. Moreover, his
thoughts were that morning with his comrades, the

75

76 THE REVOLUTIOX IN TANNER'S LANE

Friends of the People. He hummed to himself the lines
from Lara :

" Within that land was many a malcontent,
Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent ;
That soil full many a wringing despot saw.
Who worked his wantonness in form of law :
Long war without and frequent broil within
Had made a path for blood and giant sin."

The last meeting had been unusually exciting. Differ-
ences of opinion had arisen as to future procedure, many
of the members, the Secretary included, advocating
action ; but what they understood by it is very difficult
to say. A special call had been made for that night,
and Zachariah was in a difficulty. His native .sternness-
and detestation of kings and their ministers would have
led him almost to any length ; but he had a sober head
on his shoulders. So had the Major, and so had Caillaud.
Consequently they held back, and insisted, before stirring
a step towards actual re\'olution, that there should be
some fair chance of support and success. The Major
in particular warned them of the necessity of drill ; and
plainly told them also that, not only were the middle
classes all against them, but their own class was hostile^
This was perfectly true, although it was a truth so
unpleasant that he had to endure some very strong
language, and even hints of treason. No wonder : for
it is undoubtedly very bitter to be obliged to believe
that the men whom we want to help do not themselves
wish to be helped. To work hard for tho.se who will
thank us, to head a majority against oppressors, is a
brave thing ; but far more honour is due to the Mait-
lands, Caillauds, Colemans, and others of that stamp'
who strove for thirty years from the outbreak of the
French revolution onwards, not merely to rend the
chains of the prisoners, but had to achieve the more
difficult task of convincing them that they would be
happier if they were free. These heroes are forgotten,
or nearly so. Who remembers the poor creatures who-
met in the early mornings on the Lancashire moors or

UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE 77

were shot by the yeomanry ? They sleep in graves over
which stands no tombstone, or probably their bodies
have been carted away to make room for a railway which
has been driven through their resting-place. They saw
the truth before those whom the world delights to
honour as its political redeemers ; but they have perished
utterly from our recollection, and will never be men-
tioned in history. Will there ever be a great Day of
Assize when a just judgment shall be pronounced ; when
all the impostors who have been crowned for what they
•did not deserve will be stripped, and the Divine word
will be heard calhng upon the faithful to inherit the
Icingdom, — who, when " I was an hungered gave me
meat, when I was thirsty gave me drink ; when I was
a stranger took me in ; when I was naked visited me ;
when I was in prison came unto me ? " Never ! It
was a dream of an enthusiastic Galilean youth, and let
us not desire that it may ever come true. Let us rather
gladly consent to be crushed into indistinguishable dust,
with no hope of record : rejoicing only if some infinites-
imal portion of the good work may be achieved by our
obliteration, and content to be remembered only in that
anthem which in the future it will be ordained shall
be sung in our religious services in honour of all holy
apostles and martyrs who have left no name.

The night before the special meeting a gentleman in
a blue cloak, and with a cigar in his mouth, sauntered
past the entrance to Carter's Rents, where Mr. Secretary
hved. It was getting late, but he was evidently not in
a hurry, and seemed to enjoy the coolness of the air,
for presently he turned and walked past the entrance
again. He took out his watch — it was a quarter to
eleven o'clock — and he cursed Mr. Secretary and the
beer-shops which had probably detained him. A con-
stable came by, but never showed himself in the least
degree inquisitive ; although it was odd that anybody
should select Carter's Rents for a stroll. Presently Mr.
Secretary came in sight, a trifle, but not much, the worse
for liquor. It was odd, also, that he took no notice of
the blue cloak and cigar, but went straight to his own
lodging. The other, after a few moments followed ;

yS THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

and it was a third time odd that he should find the door
unbolted and go upstairs. All this, we say, would have
been strange to a spectator, but it was not so to these
three persons. Presently the one first named found
himself in Mr. Secretary's somewhat squalid room. He
then stood disclosed as the assistant whom the Secretary
had first seen at Whitehall sitting in the Commissioner's
Office. This was not the second nor third interview
which had taken place since then.

" Well, Mr. Hardy, what do you want here to-night ? "

" Well, my friend, you know, I suppose. How goes
the game ? "

" D n me if I do know. If you think I am going

to split, you are very much mistaken."

" Split ! Who wants you to split ? Why, there's
nothing to split about. I can tell you just as much
as you can tell me."

" Why do you come here then ? "

" For the pleasure of .seeing you, and to " Mr.

Hardy put his hand carelessly in his pocket, a movement
which was followed by a metallic jingle — ■" and just
to — to — explain one or two little matters."

The Secretary observed that he was very tired.

" Are you ? I believe I am tired too."

Mr. Hardy took out a little case-bottle with brandy
in it, and the Secretary, without saying a word, produced
two mugs and a jug of water. The brandy was mixed
by Mr. Hardy ; but his share of the spirit differed from
that assigned to his friend.

" Split ! " he continued ; " no, I should think not.
But we want you to help us. The Major and one or two
more had better be kept out of harm's way for a little
while ; and we propose not to hurt them, but to take
care of them a bit, you understand ? And if, the next
time, he and the others will be there — we have been
looking for the Major for three or four days, but he is
not to be found in his old quarters — we will just give
them a call. Wlien will you have your next meeting ?
They will be air handy then."

" You can find that out without my help. It's
to-morrow."

UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE 79

" Ah ! I suppose you've had a stormy discussion.
I hope your moderate counsels prevailed."

Mr. Secretary winked and gave his head a twist on
one side, as if he meant thereby to say : " You don't
catch me."

" It's a pity," continued Mr. Hardy, taking no notice,
" that some men are always for rushing into extremities.
Why don't they try and redress their grievances, if they
have any, in the legitimate way which you yourself
propose — by petition ?

It so happened that a couple of hours before, Mr.
Secretary having been somewhat noisy and insub-
ordinate, the Major had been obliged to rule liim out
of order and request his silence. The insult — for so he
considered it — was rankling in him.

" Because," he replied, " we have amongst us two

or three d d conceited, stuck-up fools, who think

they arc going to ride over us. By God, they are
mistaken though ! They are the chaps who do all the
mischief. Not that I'd say anything against them — no,
notwithstanding I stand up against them."

" Do all the mischief — yes, you've just hit it. I do
believe that if it were not for these fellows the others
would be quiet enough."

The Secretary took a little more brandy and water.
The sense of wrong within him was like an open
wound, and the brandy inflamed it. He also began
to think that it would not be a bad thing for him
if he could seclude the Major, Caillaud, and Zachariah
for a season. Zachariah in particular he mortally
hated.

" What some of these fine folks would like to do, you
see, Mr. Hardy, is to persuade us poor devils to get up
the row, while they direct it. Direct it, that's their
word ; but we're not going to be humbugged.

" Too wide awake, I should say."

" I should say so too. We are to be told off for the
Bank of England, and they are to show it to us at the
other end of Cheapside."

" Bank of England," said Mr. Hardy, laughing ;
" that's a joke. You might run your heads a loQg

8o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

while against that before you get in. You don't drink
your brandy and water."

The Secretary took another gulp. " And he's a
niihtary man — a military man — a military man." He
was getting rather stupid now, and repeated the phrase
each of the three times with increasing unsteadiness,
but also with increasing contempt.

Mr. Hardy took out his watch. It was getting on
towards midnight. " Good-bye ; glad to see you all
right,' and he turned to leave. There was a jinghng
of coin again, and when he had left Air. Secretary took
up the five sovereigns which had found their way to
the table and put them in his pocket. His visitor picked
his way downstairs. The constable was still pacing up
and down Carter's Rents, but again did nat seem to
observe him, and he walked meditatively to Jermyn
Street. He was at his office by half- past nine, and his
chief was only half-an-hour later.

The Major had thought it prudent to change his
address ; and, furthermore, it was the object of the
Government to make his arrest, with that of his
colleagues, at the place of meeting, not only to save
trouble, but because it would look better. Mr. Hardy
had found out, therefore, all he wanted to know, and
was enabled to confirm his opinion that the Major was
the head of the conspiracy.

But underneath Mr. Secretary's mine was a deeper
mine ; for as the Major sat at breakfast the next morn-
ing a note came for him, the messenger leaving directly
he delivered it to the servant. It was very brief : —
" No meeting to-night. Warn all except the Secretary,
who has already been acquainted." There was no sig-
nature, and he did not know the handwriting. He
reflected for a httle while, and then determined to
consult Caillaud and Coleman, who were his informal
Cabinet. He had no difficulty in finding Coleman, but
the Caillauds were not at home, and it was agreed that
postponement could do no harm. A message was there-
fore left at Cailliaud's house, and one was sent to every
one of the members, but two or three could not be
discovered.

UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE 8i

Meanwhile Mr. Secretary, who, strange to say, had
not been acquainted, had been a httle overcome by
Mr. Hardy's brandy on the top of the beer he had
taken beforehand, and woke in the morning very miser-
able. Finding the five guineas in his pocket, he was
tempted to a public-house hard by, in order that he
might cool his stomach and raise his spirits with a
draught or two of ale. He remained there a little too
long, and on reaching home was obliged to go to bed
again. He awoke about six, and then it came into his
still somewhat confused brain that he had to attend
the meeting. At half-past seven he accordingly took
his departure. Meanwhile the Major and Zachariah
had determined to post themselves in Red Lion Street.
to intercept those of their comrades with whom they
had not been able to communicate, and also to see what
was going to happen. At a quarter to eight the Secretary
turned out of Holborn, and when he came a little nearer,
Zachariah saw that at a distance of fifty yards there
was a constable following him. He came on slowly
until he was abreast of a narrow court, when suddenh'
there was a pistol-shot, and he was dead on the pave-
ment. Zachariah's first impulse was to rush forward,
but he saw the constable running, followed by others, and
he discerned in an instant that to attempt to assist
would lead to his own arrest and do no good. He
managed, however, to reach the Major, and for two or
three moments they stood stock-still on the edge of the
pavement struck with amazement. Presently a woman
passed them wath a thick veil over her face.

" Home," she said ; " don't stay here like fools.
Pack up your things and be off. You'll be in prison
to-morrow morning."

Be off ! " gasped Zachariah ; " be off ! — where ? "

" Anywhere ! " and she had gone.

The constables, after putting the corpse in a hackney
coach, proceeded to the room ; but it was dark and
empty. They had no directions to do anything more
that night, and returned to Bow Street. The next
morning, however, as soon as it was light, a Secretary
of State's warrant, backed by sufficient force, was

82 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

presented at the lodgings of Caillaud and Zachariah.
The birds had flown, and not a soul could tell what had
become of them. In Zachariah's street, wliich was
rather a Radical quarter, the official inquiries were not
answered politely, and one of the constables received on
the top of his head an old pail with slops in it. The
minutest investigation failed to discover to whom the
pail belonged.

CHAPTER IX

A Strain on the Cable

Bow Street was completely at fault, and never dis-
covered the secret of that assassination. It was clear
that neither the Major nor Coleman were the murderers,
as they had been noticed at some distance from the
spot where the Secretary fell by several persons who
described them accurately. Nor was Caillaud suspected,
as the constable testified that he passed him on the
opposite side of the street, as he followed the Secretary.
Tlie only conclusion, according to Bow Street, which was
free from all doubt was, that whoever did the deed was
a committee consisting of a single member. A reward
of £500 did not bring forward anybody who knew any-
thing about the business. As for Caillaud, his daughter
and the Major, the next morning saw them far on the
way to Dover, and eventually they arrived at Paris in
safety. Zachariah, when he reached home, found his
wife gone. A note lay for him there, probably from the
same hand which warned the Major, telling him not to
lose an instant, but to join in Islington one of the mails
to Manchester. His wife would start that night from
St. Martin's le Grand by a coach which went by another
road. He was always prompt, and in five minutes he
was out of the house. The fare was carefully folded
by his unknown friend in the letter. He just managed
as directed, to secure a place, not by the regular Man-
chester mail, but by one which went through Barnet
and stopped to take up passengers at the " Angel." He
climbed upon the roof, and presently was travelling

»3

84 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

rapidly through Holloway and Highgate. He found, to
his rehef, that nobody had heard of the murder, and
he was left pretty much to his own reflections. His first
thoughts were an attempt to unravel the mystery.
Why was it so sudden ? Why had no word not hint of
what was intended reached him ? He could not guess.
In those days the clubs were so beset with spies that
frequently the most important resolutions were taken
by one man, who confided in nobody. It was winter,
but fortunately Zachariah was well wrapped up. He
journeyed on, hour after hour, in a state of mazed
bewilderment, one thought tumbling over another, and
when morning broke over the flats he had not advanced
a single step in the determination of his future path.
Nothing is more painful to a man of any energy than
the inability to put things in order in himself — to place
before himself what he has to do, and arrange the
means for doing it. To be the passive victim of a
rushing stream of disconnected impressions is torture,
especially if the emergency be urgent. So when the
sun came up Zachariah began to be ashamed of himself
that the night had passed in these idiotic moonings,
which had left him just where he was, and he tried to
settle what he was to do when he reached Manchester.
He did not know a soul ; but he could conjecture why
he was advised to go thither. It was a disaffected
town, and Friends of the People were -very strong there.
His first duty was to get a lodging, his second to get
work, and his third to find out a minister of God under
whom he could worship. He put this last, not because
it was the least important, but because he had the most
time to decide upon it. At about ten o'clock at night
he came to his journey's end, and to his joy saw his
Avife waiting for him. They went at once to a small
inn hard by, and Mrs. Coleman began to overwhelm
him with interrogation ; but he quietly suggested that
not a syllable should be spoken till they had had some
rest, and that they should swallow their supper and go
to bed. In the morning Zachariah rose and looked out
of the window. He saw nothing but a small backyard
in which some miserable, scraggy fowls were crouching

A STRAIN OX THE CABLE 85

under a cart to protect themselves from the rain, which
was falhng heavily through the dim, smoky air. His
spirits sank. He had no fear of apprehension or prosecu-
tion, but the prospect before him was depressing.
Although he was a poor man, he had not been accus-
tomed to oscillations of fortune, and he was in an utterly
strange place, with five pounds in his pocket, and
nothing to do.

He was, however, resolved not to yield, and thought
it best to begin with his wife before she could begin
with him.

" Now, my dear, tell me what has happened, who
sent you here, and what kind of a journey you have
had ? "

" Mr. Bradshaw came about seven o'clock, and told
me the Government was about to suppress the Friends
of the People ; that you did not know it ; that I must
go to Manchester ; that you would come after me ;
and that a message would be left for you. He took
me to the coach, and paid for me."

" Mr. Bradshaw ! Did he tell you anything more ? "

" No ; except that he did not think we should be
pursued, and that he would send our things after us
when he knew where we were."

" You have not heard anything more, then ? "

" No."

" You haven't heard that the Secretary was shot ? "

" Shot ! Oh dear ! Zachariah, what will become
of us ? "

Her husband then told her what he knew, she listening
with great eagerness and in silence.

" Oh, Zachariah, what will become of us ? " she
broke out again.

" There is no reason to worry yourself, Jane ; it is
perfectly easy for me to prove my innocence. It is
better for us, however, to stay here for a time. The
Government won't go any further with us ; they will
search for the murderer — that's all."

" Why, then, are we sent here and the others are
let alone ? I suppose the Major is not here ? "

" I cannot say."

86 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" To think I should ever come to this ! I haven't got
a rag with me beyond what I have on. I haven't got
any clean things ; a nice sort of creature I am to go
out of doors. And it all had nothing to do with us."

" Nothing to do with us ! My dear Jane, do you
mean that we are not to help other people, but sit at
home and enjoy ourselves ? Besides, if you thought it
wrong, why did you not say so before ? "

" How was I to know what you were doing ? You
never told me anything ; you never do. One tiling I
do know is that we shall starve and I suppose I shall
have to go about and beg. I haven't even another pair
of shoes or stockings to my feet."

Zachariah pondered for a moment. His first impulse
was something very different ; but at last he rose, went
up to his wife, kissed her softly on the forehead, and
said :

" Never mind, my dear ; courage, j^ou will have your
clothes next week. Come with me and look out for a
lodging."

Mrs. Zachariah, however, shook herself free — not
violently, but still decidedly — from his caresses.

" ISIost likely seized by the Government. Look for
a lodging ! That's just like you ! How can I go out
in this pouring rain ?

Zachariah. lately, at any rate, had ceased to expect
much affection in his wife for him ; but he thought
she was sensible, and equal to any complexity of circum-
stances, or even to disaster. He tliought this, not on
any positive evidence ; but he concluded, somewhat
absurdly, that her coldness meant common sense and
capacity for facing trouble courageously and with
deliberation. He had now to find out his mistake, and
to learn that the absence of emotion neither proves,
nor is even a gi'ound for suspecting, any good whatever
of a person ; that, on the contrary, it is a ground for
suspecting weaktiess, and possibly imbecility.

Mrs. Coleman refused to go out, and after breakfast
Zachariah went by himself, having first inquired what
was a likely quarter. As he wandered along much that
had been before him again and again once more recurred

A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 87

to him. He had been overtaken by calamity, and he
had not lieard from his wife one single expression of
sympathy, nor had he received one single idea which
could help him. She had thought of nothing but her-
self, and even of herself not reasonably. She was not
the helpmeet which he felt he had a right to expect.
He could have endured any defect, so it seemed, if only
he could have had love ; he could have endured the
want of love if only he could have had a counsellor.
But he had neither, and he rebelled, questioning the
justice of his lot. Then he fell into the old famihar
controversy with himself, and it was curiously char-
acteristic of him, that, as he paced those dismal Man-
chester pavements, all their gloom disappeared as he
re-argued the universal problem of which his case was
an example. He admitted the unquestionable right of
the Almighty to damn three parts of creation to eternal
hell if so He willed ; why not, then, one sinner hke
Zachariah Coleman to a weary pilgrimage for thirty or
forty years ? He rebuked himself when he found that
he had all his life assented so easily to the doctrine of
God's absolute authority in the election and disposal
of the creatures He had made, and yet that he revolted
when God touched him, and awarded him a punishment
which, in comparison with the eternal loss of His
presence, was as nothing. At last — and here, through
liis religion, he came down to the only consolation
possible for him — he said to himself, " Thus hath He
decreed ; it is foolish to struggle against His ordinances ;
we can but submit." " A poor gospel," says his critic.
Poor ! — yes, it may be ; but it is the gospel according
to Job, and any other is a mere mirage. " Doth the
hawk fly by thy wisdom and stretch her wings towards
the south ? " Confess ignorance and the folly of in-
surrection, and there is a chance that even the irre-
mediable will be somewhat mitigated. Poor ! — yes ;
but it is genuine ; and this at least must be said for
Puritanism, that of all the theologies and philosophies
it is the most honest in its recognition of the facts ; the
most real, if we penetrate to the heart of it, in the
remedy which it offers.

88 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

He found two small furnished rooms which would
answer his purpose till his own furniture should arrive,
and he and his wife took possession that same morning.
He then wrote to his landlord in London — a man whom he
knew he could trust — and directed him to send his goods.
For the present, although he had no fear whatever of
any prosecution, he thought fit to adopt a feigned name,
with which we need not trouble ourselves. In the after-
noon he sallied out to seek employment. The weather
had cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still refused to accom-
pany him, and she occupied herself moodily with setting
the place to rights, as she called it, although, as it
happened, it was particularly neat and clean. There
was not so much printing done in Manchester then as
now, and Zachariah had no success. He came home
about seven o'clock, weary and disheartened. His wife
was one of those women who under misfortune show all
that is worst in them, as many women in misfortune
show all that is best.

" You might have been sure you would get nothing
to do here. If, as you say, there is no danger, why
did you not stay in London ? "

" You know all about it, my dear ; we were warned
to come."

" Yes, but why in such a hurry ? \Miy didn't you
stop to think ? "

" It is all very well to say so now, but there were only
a few minutes in which to decide. Besides, when I got
home I found you gone."

Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the
last part of this remark, which, of course, settled the
whole question, but continued :

" Ah, well, I suppose it's all right ; but I'm sure we
shall starve ; - I am convinced we shall. Oh ! I wish
my poor dear mother were alive ! I have no home to
go to. WTiat will become of us ? "

He lost his patience a little.

" Jane," he said, " what is our religion worth if it
does not support us in times like these ? Does it not
teach us to bow to God's will ? Surely we, who have
had such advantages, ought to behave under our trials

A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 89

better than those who have been brought up like
heathens. God will not leave us. Don't you re-
member Mr. Bradshaw's sermon upon the passage
through the Red Sea. When the Israelites were brought
down to the very shore with nothing but destruction
before them, a way was opened. What did Mr. Brad-
shaw bid us observ'e ? The Egyptians were close be-
liind — so close that the Israelites saw them ; the sea
was in front. The road was not made till the enemy
was upon them, and then the waters were divided and
became a wall unto them on their right hand and on
their left ; the very waters, Mr. Bradshaw remarked,
which before were their terror. God, too, might have
sent them a different way ; no doubt He might, but
He chose that way."

" Zachariah, I heard Mr. Bradshaw as well as your-
self ; I am a member of the church just as much as you
are, and I don't think it becoming of you to preach to
me as if you were a minister." Her voice rose and
became shriller as she went on. " I will not stand it.
Who are you that you should talk to me so ? — bad
enough to bring me down here to die, without treating
me as if I were an unconverted character. Oh ! if I
had but a home to go to ! " and she covered her face
with her apron and became hysterical.

What a revelation ! By this time he had looked often
into the soul of the woman whom he had chosen — the
woman with whom he was to be for ever in this world —
and had discovered that there was nothing, nothing,
absolutely nothing which answered anything in himself
with a smile of recognition ; but he now looked again,
and found something worse than emptiness. He found
lurking in the obscure darkness a reptile with cruel
fangs which at any moment might turn upon liim when
he was at his weakest and least able to defend himself.
He had that in him by nature which would have
prompted him to desperate deeds. He could have
flung himself from her with a curse, or even have
killed himself in order to escape from liis difficulty.
But whatever there was in him originally had been
changed. Upon the wild stem had been grafted a

90 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

nobler slip, which drew all its sap from the old root,
but had civilised and sweetened its acrid juices. He
leaned over his wife, caressed her, gave her water, and
restored her.

" God knows," he said, " I did not mean to preach
to you. God in heaven knows I need that somebody
should preach to me." He knelt down before her as
she remained leaning back in the chair, and he repeated
the Lord's Prayer : " Give us this day our daily bread.
Forgive its our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass
against us." But will it be believed that as he rose
from his knees, before he had actually straightened his
limbs, two lines from the " Corsair " flashed into his
mind, not particularly apposite, but there they were :

" She rose — she sprung — she clung to his embrace
Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face ? "

Whence had they descended ? He was troubled at
their sudden intrusion, and he went silently to the
window, moodily gazing into the street. His wife,
left to herself, recovered, and prepared supper. There
was no reconciliation, at least on her side. She was not
capable of reconciliation. Her temper exhausted itself
gradually. With her the storm never broke up nobly
and with magnificent forgetfulness into clear spaces of
azure, with the singing of birds and with hot sunshine
turning into diamonds every remaining drop of the
deluge which had threatened ruin ; the change was
always rather to a uniformly obscured sky and a cold
drizzle which lasted all day.

The next morning he renewed his quest. He was away
all day long, but he had no success. He was now
getting very anxious. He was expecting his furniture,
which he had directed to be sent to the inn where they
had first stayed, and he would have to pay for the
carriage. His landlord had insisted on a week's rent
beforehand, so that, putting aside Ihe sum for the
carrier, he had now two pounds left. He thought of
appealing to his friends ; but he had a great horror of
asking for charity, and could not bring himself to do it.

A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 91

The third, fourth, and fifth day passed, with no result.
On the seventh day he found that his goods had come ;
but he decided not to move, as it meant expense. He
took away a chest of clothes, and remained where he
was. By way of recoil from the older doctrine that
suffering does men good, it has been said that it does
no good. Both statements are true, and both untrue.
Many it merely brutalises. Half the crime of the world
is caused by suffering, and half its virtues are due to
happiness. Nevertheless suffering, actual personal suf-
fering, is the mother of innumerable beneficial experi-
ences, and unless we are so weak that we yield and
break, it extracts from us genuine answers to many
questions which, without it, we either do v<. t put to
ourselves, or, if they are asked, are turned aside with
traditional replies. A man who is strong and survives
can hardly pace the pavements of a city for days search-
ing for employment, his pocket every day becoming
lighter, without feeling in after life that he is richer by
something which all the universities in the world could
not have given him. Tha^ most dramatic of poets
cannot imagine, even afar of^ what such a man feels and
thinks, especially if his temperament be nervous and
foreboding. How foreign, hard, repellent, are the
streets in which he is a stranger, alone amidst a crowd
of people all intent upon their own occupation, whilst
he has none ! At noon, when business is at its height,
he, with nothing to do, sits down on a seat in an open
place, or, may be, on the doorstep of an empty house,
unties the little parcel he has brought with him, and
eats his dry bread. He casts up in his mind the shops
he has visited ; he reflects that he has taken all the
more promising first, and that not more than two or
three are left. He tliinks of the vast waste of the city
all round him ; its miles of houses ; and he has a more
vivid sense of abandonment than if he were on a plank
in the middle of the Atlantic. Towards the end of the
afternoon the pressure in the offices and banks increases ;
the clerks hurry hither and thither ; he has no share
whatever in the excitement ; he is an intrusion. He
lingers about aimlessly, and presently the great tide

92 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

turns outwards and flows towards the suburbs. Every
vehicle which passes him is crowded with happy folk
who have earned their living and are going home.
He has earned nothing. Let anybody who wants to
test the strength of the stalk of carle hemp in him. try
it by the wringing strain of a day thus spent ! How
humiliating are the repulses he encounters ! Most
employers to whom a request is made for something to
do prefer to treat it as a petition for alms, and answer
accordingly. They understand what is wanted before
a word is spoken, and bawl out " No ! Shut the door
after you." One man to whom Zachariah applied was
opening his letters. For a moment he did not pay the
slightest attention, but as Zachariah continued waiting,
he shouted with an oath, " ^\^lat do you stand staring
there for ? Be off ! " There was once a time when
Zachariah would have stood up against the wretch ; but
he could not do it now, and he retreated in silence.
Nevertheless, when he got out into the street he felt
as if he could have rushed back and gripped the brute's
throat till he had squeeze^ the soul out of his carcass.
Those of us who have craved unsuccessfully for per-
mission to do what the Maker of us all has fitted us
to do alone understand how revolutions are generated.
Talk about the atrocities of the Revolution ! All the
atrocities of the democracy heaped together ever since
the world began would not equal, if we had any gauge
by which to measure them, the atrocities perpetrated
in a week upon the poor, simply because they are poor ;
and the marvel rather is, not that there is every now and
then a September massacre at which all the world shrieks,
but that such horrors are so infrequent. Again, I say,
let no man judge communist or anarchist till he has
asked for leave to work, and a " Damn your eyes ! " has
rung in his ears.

Zachariah had some self-respect ; he was cared for
by God, and in God's Book was a registered decree
concerning him. These men treated him as if he were
not a person, an individual soul, but as an atom of a
mass to be swept out anywhere, into the gutter — into the
river. He was staggered for a time. Hundreds and

A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 93

thousands of human beings swarmed past him, and he
could not help saying to himself as he looked up to the
grey sky, "Is it true, then ? Does God really know
anything about me ? Are we not born by the milUon
every week, like spawn, and crushed out of existence
like spawn ? Is not humanity the commonest and
cheapest thing in the world ? " But as yet his faith was
unshaken, and he repelled the doubt as a temptation of
Satan. Blessed is the man who can assign promptly
everything which is not in harmony with himself to a
devil, and so get rid of it. The pitiful case is that of
the distracted mortal who knows not what is the degree
of authority which his thoughts and impulses possess ;
who is constantly bewildered by contrary messages,
and has no evidence as to their authenticity. Zachariah
had his rule still ; the suggestion in the street was tried
by it ; found to be false ; was labelled accordingly, and
he was relieved.

The dread of the real, obvious danger was not so
horrible as a vague, shapeless fear which haunted him.
It was a coward enemy, for it seized him when he was
most tired and most depressed. What is that nameless
terror ? Is it a momentary revelation of the infinite
abyss which surrounds us ; from the sight of which we
are mercifully protected by a painted vapour, by an
illusion ; that unspeakable darkness which we all of us
know to exist, but which we hypocritically deny, and
determine never to confess to wne another ? Here again,
however, Zachariah had his advantage over others. He
had his precedent. He remembered that quagmire in
the immortal Progress, into which, if even a good man
falls, he can find no bottom ; he remembered that gloom
so profound " that ofttimes, when he lifted up his foot
to set forward, he knew not where or upon what he should
set it next ; " he remembered the flame and smoke, the
sparks and hideous noises, the things that cared not for
Christian's sword, so that he was forced to betake himself
to another weapon called All-prayer ; he remembered
how that Christian was so confounded thai he did not know
his own voice ; " he remembered the voice of a man ;is
going before, saying, " Though I walk through the valley

94 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

of the shadow of death I will fear none ill, for Thou art
with me." Lastly, he remembered that by-and-by the
day broke, and Christian cried, " He hath turned the
shadow of death into the morning." He remembered all
this ; he could connect his trouble with the trouble of
others ; he could give it a place in the dispensation of
things, and could therefore lift himself abov^e it.

He had now been in Manchester a fortnight, and his
little store had dwindled down to five shillings. It was
Saturday night. On the Sunday, as his last chance,
he meant to write to Mr. Bradshaw. He went out on
the Sunday morning, and had persuaded his wife to
accompany him. They entered the first place of worship
they saw. It was a Methodist chapel, and the preacher
was Arminian in the extreme. It was the first time
Zachariah had ever been present at a Methodist service.
The congregation sang with much fervour, and during
the prayer, which was very long, they broke in upon it
with ejaculations of their own, such as " Hear him, O
Lord ! " — " Lord have mercy on us ! "

The preacher spoke a broad Lancashire dialect, and
was very dramatic. He pictured God's efforts to save
a soul. Under the pulpit ledge was the imaginary bot-
tomless pit of this world — not of the next. He leaned
over and pretended to be drawing the soul up with a
cord. " He comes, he comes ! " he cried ; " God be
praised he is safe ! " and he landed him on the Bible.
The congregation gave a great groan of relief. " There
he is on the Rock of Ages ! No, no, he slips ; the Devil
has him ! " The preacher tried to rescue him " He
is gone — gone ! " and he bent over the pulpit in agony.
The people almost shrieked. " Gone — gone ! " he said
again with most moving pathos, and was still for a mo-
ment. Then gathering himself up, he solemnly repeated
the terrible verses : " For it is impossible for those who
were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift,
and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have
tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world
to com.e, if they shall fall awav, to renew them again unto
repentance ; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of
God afresh, and put Him to an open shame." Zachariah

A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 95

knew that text well. Round it had raged the polemics
of ages. Mr. Bradshaw had never referred to it but
once, and all the elder members of his congregation were
eager in the extreme to hear what he had to say about
it He boldly declared that it had nothing to do with the
elect. He was compelled to do so. Following his master
Calvin, he made it apply to outsiders. The elect, says
Calvin, are beyond the risk of fatal fall. But " I deny,"
he goes on to say, that " there is any reason why God
may not bestow even on the reprobate a taste of His
favour ; may irradiate their minds with some scintilla-
tions of His light ; may touch them with some sense of
His goodness ; may somehow engrave His word on their
minds." Horrible, most horrible, we scream, that the
Almighty should thus play with those whom He means
to destroy ; but let us once more remember that these
men did not idly believe in such cruelty. They were
forced into their belief by the demands of their under-
standing, and their assent was more meritorious than the
weak protests of so-called enlightenment. Zachariah.
pondering absently on what he had heard, was passing
out of the chapel when a hand was gently laid on his
shoulder.

" Ah, friend, what are you doing here ?

He turned round and recognised WiUiam Ogden, who
had been sent by the Hampden Club in Manchester
some six months before as a delegate to the Friends of the
People in London. The two walked some distance
together, and Zachariah gave him the history of the last
three weeks. With the murder he was, of course,
acquainted. Ogden was a letterpress printer, and when
he heard that Zachariah was in such straits, he said that
he thought he might perhaps find him a job for the
present, and told him to come to his office on the follow-
ing morning. Zachariah's heart rejoiced that his bread
would not fail, but he characteristically rejoiced even
more at this signal proof that his trust in his God was
justified. When he reached home he proposed to his
wife that they should at once kneel down and thank
God for His mercy.

" Of course, Zachariah ; but you are not yet sure

g6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

you will get anything. I will take oflE my things
directly."

" Need you wait to take off your things, my dear ? "
" Really, Zachariah, you do make such strange re-
marks sometimes. I need not wait ; but I am sure it
will be more becoming, and it will give you an oppor-
tunity to think over what you are going to say."

Accordingly Mrs. Coleman retired for about five
minutes. On her return she observ^ed that it was the
time for regular family prayer, and she produced the
Bible. Zachariah had indeed had the opportunity to
think, and he had thought very rapidly. The mere
opening of the sacred Book, however, always acted as a
spell, and when its heavy lids fell down on either side the
room cleared itself of all haunting, intrusive evil spirits.
He read the seveateenth chapter of Exodus, the story
of the water brought out of the rock ; and he thanked
the Almightv with great earnestness for the favour shown
him, never once expressing a doubt that he would not be
successful. He was not mistaken, for Ogden had a place
for him, just as good and just as permanent as the one
he had left in London.

CHAPTER X

Disintegration by Degrees

We must now advance a little more rapidly- It was in
the beginning of 1815 that Zacharian found himself
settled in Manchester. That eventful year passed with-
out any external change, so far as he was concerned.
He became a member of the Hampden Club, to which
Ogden and Bamford belonged ; but he heard nothing
of Maitland nor of Caillaud. He had a letter now and
then from Mr. Bradshaw, and it was a sore trial to liim
that nobody could be found in Manchester to take the
place of that worthy man of God. He could not attach
himself definitely to any church in the town, and the
habit grew upon him of wandering into this or the other
chapel as his fancy led him. His comrades often met
on Sunday evenings. At first he would not go ; but
he was afterwards persuaded to do so. The reasons
which induced him to alter his mind were, in the first
place, the piety, methodistic most of it, which was then
mixed up with politics ; and secondly, a growing fierce-
ness of temper, which -made the cause of the people a
religion. From 181 6 downwards it may be questioned
whether he would not have felt himself more akin with
any of his democratic friends, who were really in earnest
over the great struggle, than with a sleek half Tory
professor of the go.spel, however orthodox he might have
been, lia 1816 the situation of the working classes had
become almost intolerable. Towards the end of the year
wheat rose to 103s. a quarter, and incendiarism was
common all over England. A sense of insecurity and

97

98 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

terror took possession of everybody. Secret outrages,
especially fires by night, chill the courage of the bravest,
as those know well enough who have lived in an agricul-
tural county, when, just before going to bed, great lights
are seen on the horizon ; when men and women collect
on bridges or on hill tops, asking " Where is it ? " and
when fire-engines tearing through the streets arrive
useless at their journey's end because the hose has been
cut. One evening in November 1816, Zachariah was
walking home to his lodgings. A special meeting of the
club had been called for the following Sunday to consider
a proposal made for a march of the unemployed upon
London. Three persons passed him — two men and
a woman — who turned round and looked at him and
then went on. He did not recognise them, but he noticed
that they stopped opposite a window, and as he came
up they looked at him again. He could not be mis-
taken ; they were the Major, Caillaud, and his daughter.
The most joyous recognition followed, and Zachariah
insisted on their going home with him. It often happens
that we become increasingly intimate with one another
even when we are shut out from all intercourse. Zach-
ariah had not seen the Major nor Caillaud nor Pauline
for two years, and not a single thought had been inter-
changed. Nevertheless he was much nearer and dearer
to them than he was before. He had unconsciouslj'
moved on a line rapidly sweeping round into parallelism
with theirs. The relationship between himself and his^
wife during those two years had become, not openly
hostile, it is true, but it was neutral. Long ago he had
given up the habit of talking to her about politics, the
thing which lay nearest to his* heart just then. The
pumping effort of bringing out a single sentence in her
presence on any abstract topic was incredible, and so he
learned at last to come home, though his heart and
mind were full to bursting, and say nothing more to her
than that he had seen her friend Mrs. Sykes, or bought
his tea at a different shop. On the other hand, the
revolutionary literature of the time, and more particu-
larly Byron, increasingly interested him. The very
wildness and remoteness of Byron's romance was just

DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES 99

what suited him. It is all very well for the happy and
well-to-do to talk scornfully of poetic sentimentality.
Those to whom a natural outlet for their affection is de-
nied know better. They instinctively turn to books
which are the farthest removed from commonplace and
are in a sense unreal. Not to the prosperous man, a dweller
in beautiful scenery, well married to an intelligent wife,
is Byron precious, but to the poor wretch, say some
City clerk, with an aspiration beyond his desk, who has
two rooms in Camberwell ; and who before he knew
what he was doing made a marriage — well — which was
a mistake, but who is able to turn to that island in the
summer sea, where dwells Kaled, his mistress — Kaled,
the Dark Page disguised as a man, who watches her
beloved dying :

" Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees,
Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees ;
Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,
Held all the light that shone on earth for him."

When they came indoors, and Mrs. Zachariah heard
on the stairs the tramp of other feet besides those of her
husband, she prepared herself to be put out of temper.
Not that she could ever be really surprised She was
not one of those persons who keep a house orderly for
the sake of appearances. She would have been just the
same if she had been living alone, shipwrecked on a soli-
tary island in the Pacific. She was the born natural
enemy of dirt, dust, untidiness, and of every kind of
irregularity, as the cat is the born natural enemy of the
mouse. The sight of dirt, in fact, gave her a quiet kind
of delight, because she foresaw the pleasure of annihil-
ating it. Irregularity was just as hateful to her. She
could not sit still if one ornament on the mantelpiece
looked one way and the other another way, and she
would have risen from her deathbed, if she could have
done so, to put a chair straight. She was not, therefore,
aggrieved in expectancy because she was not fit to be
seen. It was rather because she resented any interrup-
tion of domestic order of which she had not been

100 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

previously forewarned. As it happened, however the
Major came first, and striding into the room, he shook
her hand with considerable fervour and kissed it gallantly.
Her gathering ill-temper disappeared with the prompti-
tude of a flash. It was a muddy night ; the Major had
not carefully wiped his boots, and the footmarks were
all over the floor. She saw them, but they were
nothing.

" My dear Mrs. Coleman, how are you ? What a
blessing to be here again in your comfortable
quarters."

" Really, Major Maitland, it is very good of you to say
so. I am very glad to see you again. Where have you
been ? I thought we had lost you for ever."

Caillaud and his daughter had followed. They
bowed to her formally, and she begged them to be
seated.

" Then, my dear madam," continued the Major,
laughing, " you must have thought me dead. You
might have known that if I had not been dead I must
have come back."

She coloured just a trifle, but made no reply further
than to invite all the company to have supper.

Zachariah was somewhat surprised. He did not
know what sort of a supper it could be ; but he was
silent. She asked Pauline to take off her bonnet, and
then proceeded to lay the cloth. For five minutes, or
perhaps ten minutes, she disappeared, and then there
came, not only bread and cheese, but cold ham, a plenti-
ful supply of beer, and, more wonderful still, a small
cold beefsteak pie. Everything was produced as easily
as if it had been the ordinary fare, and Zachariah was
astonished at his wife's equality to the emergency.
Whence she obtained the ham and beefsteak pie he could
not conjecture. She apologised for having nothing
hot ; would have had something better if she had
known, etc., etc., and then sat down at the head of the
table. The IMajor sat on her right, Pauline next to liim,
and opposite to Pauline, Caillaud and Zachariah. Their
hostess immediately began to ask questions about the
events of that fatal night when they all left London.

DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES loi

The Major, however, interposed, and said that it
would perhaps be better if nothing was said upon that
subject.

" A dismal topic," he observed ; " talking about it
can do no good, and I for one don't want to be upset by
thinking about it just before I go to bed."

" At least," said Zachariah, " you can tell us why you
are in Manchester ? "

" Certainly," replied the Major. " In the first place,
Paris is not quite so pleasant as it used to be ; London,
too, is not attractive ; and we thought that, on the whole,
Manchester was to be preferred. Moreover, a good deal
will have to be done during the next twelvemonth, and
Manchester will do it. You will hear all about it when
your club meets next time."

" You've been in Paris ? " said Mrs. Zachariah.
" Isn't it very wicked ? "

" Well, that depends on what you call wicked."

" Surely there cannot be two opinions on that
point."

" It does seem so ; and yet when you live abroad you
find that things which are made a great deal of here are
not thought so much of there ; and, what is very curious,
they think other things very wrong there of which we
take no account here."

" Is that because they are not Christians ? "

" Oh dear no ; I am speaking of good Christian
people ; at least so I take them to be. And really, when
you come to consider it, we all of us make a great fuss
about our own httle bit of \'irtue, and undervalue rfie
rest — I cannot tell upon whose authority."

" But are they not, Major, dreadfully immoral in
France ? "

Pauline leaned over her plate and looked Mrs. Coleman
straight in the face.

" ]\Irs. Coleman, you are English ; you "

Her father put up his hand ; he foresaw what was
coming, and that upon this subject Pauline would have
defied all the rules of hospitality. So he replied calmly,
but with the calm of suppressed force :

" Mrs. Coleman, as my daughter says, you are English ;

D

102 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

you are excusable. I will not dispute with you, but I
will tell you a little story."

" Will you not take some more beer, Mr. Caillaud,
before you begin ?

" No, thank you, madam, I have finished."
Caillaud pushed away his plate, on which three parts
of what was given him, including all the ham, remained
untouched, and began — his Gallicisms and broken Eng-
lish have been corrected in the version now before the
reader :

"•4n 1790 a young man named Dupin was living in
Paris, in the house of his father, who was a banker there.
The Dupins were rich, and the son kept a mistress, a
girl named Victorine. Dupin the younger had developed
into one of the worst of men. He was strictly correct
in all his dealings, sober, guilty of none of the riotous
excesses which often distinguish youth at that age, and
most attentive to business ; but he was utterly self-
regarding, hard, and emotionless. What could have
induced Victorine to love him I do not know ; but love
him she did, and her love instead of being a folly, was
her glory. Tf love were always to be in proportion to
desert, measured out in strictest and justest huckstering
conformity therewith, what a poor thing it would be !
The love at least of a woman is as the love of the Supreme
Himself, and just as magnificent. Victorine was faithful
to Dupin ; and poor and handsome as she was, never
wronged him by a loose look. Well, Dupin 's lather said
his son must marry, and the son saw how reasonable and
how necessary the proposal was. He did marry, and he
cut himself adrift from Victorine without the least com-
punction, allowing her a small sum weekly, insufficient
to keep her. There was no scene when they parted, for
his determination was communicated to her by letter.
Three months afterwards she had a child of whom he
was the father. Did she quietly take the money and
say nothing ? Did she tear up the letter in a frenzy and
return him the fragments ? She did neither. She wrote
to him and told him that she would not touch his gold.
She would never forget him, but she could not be be-
holden to him now for a crust of bread. She had done

DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES 103

no wrong hitherto — so she said, Mrs. Coleman ; I only
repeat her words — they are not mine. But to live on
him after he had left her would be a mortal crime. So
they separated, a victim she — both victims, I may say —
to this cursed thing we call Society. One of the con-
ditions on which the money was to have been given was,
that she should never again recognise him in any way
whatever. This half of the bargain she faithfully ob-
served. For some months she was alone, trying to keep
herself and her child, but at last she was taken up by a
working stone-mason named Legouve. In 1793 came
the Terror, and the Dupins were denounced and thrown
into the Luxembourg. Legouve was one of the Com-
mittee of Public Safety. It came to the recollection of
the younger Dupin as he lay expecting death that he had
heard that the girl Victorine had gone to live with
Ixgouve, and a ray of light dawned on him in his dungeon.
He commissioned his wife to call on Victorine and im-
plore her to help them. She did so. Ah, that was a
wonderful sight — so like the Revolution ! Madame
Dupin, in her silks and satins, had often passed the ragged
Victorine in the streets, and, of course, had never taken
the slightest notice of her. Now Madame was kneeling
to her ! Respectability was in the dust before that
which was not by any means respectable ; the legitimate
before the illegitimate ! Oh, it was, I say, a wonderful
sight in Victorine 's wretched garret ! She was touched
with pity, and, furthermore, the memory of her old days
with Dupin and her love for him revived. Legouve was
frightfully jealous, and she knew that if she pleaded
Dupin's cause before him she would make matters worse.
A sudden thought struck her. She went to Couthon
and demanded an audience.

" ' Couthon,' she said, ' are the Dupins to die ? '

" ' Yes, to-morrow.'

" ' Dupin the younger is the father of my child.'

" ' And he has deserted you, and you hate him. He
shall die.'

" ' Pardon me, I do not hate him.'

" ' Ah, you love him still ; but that is no reason whj'
he should be spared, my pretty one. We must do our

104 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

duty. They are plotters against the Republic, and must

go'

" ' Q)uthon, they must live. Consider ; shall that
man ascend the scaffold with the thought in his heart
that I could have rescued him, and that I did not ; that
I have had my revenge ? Besides, what will be said ? —
that the Republic uses justice to satisfy private ven-
geance. All the women in my quarter know who I
am.'

" ' That is a fancy.'

" ' Fancy ! Is it a fancy to murder Dupin's
wife — murder all that is good in her — murder the
belief in her for ever that there is such a thing
as generosity ? You do not wish to kill the soul ?
That is the way with tyrants, but not with the
Repubhc'

" Thus Victorine strove with Couthon, and he at last
yielded. Dupin and his father were released that night,
and before daybreak they were all out of Paris and safe.
In the morning Legouve found that they were liberated,
and on asking Couthon the reason, was answered with a
smile that they had an eloquent advocate. Victorine
had warned Couthon not to mention her name, and he
kept his promise ; but Legouve conjectured but too
truly. He went home, and in a furious rage taxed
Victorine with infidelity to him, in favour of the man who
had abandoned her. He would not listen to her, and
thrust her from him with curses. I say nothing more
about her history. I will only say this, that Pauline is
that child who was born to her after Dupin left her. I
say it because I am so proud that Pauline has had such
a mother ! "

" Pauline her daughter ! " said Zachariah. " I
thought she was your daughter."

" She is my daughter : I became her father."

Eveny'^body was silent.

" Ah, you say nothing," said Caillaud ; " I am not
surprised. You are astonished. Well may you be so
that such a creature should ever have lived. What
would Jesus Chri.st have said to her ? "

The company soon afterwards rose to go.

DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES 105

" Good-bye, Mrs. Coleman," said the Major in his
careless way ; "I am glad to find Manchester does not
disagree with you. At least, I should think it does
not."

" Oh no. Major Maitland, I like it quite as well as
London. Mind, you promise to come again soon — very
soon."

The Major had gone downstairs first. She had fol-
lowed him to the first landing, and then returned to bid
Pauline and Caillaud good-bye. She stood like a statue
while Pauline put on her hat.

" Good-night, madam," said Caillaud, slightly bow-
ing.

" Good-night, madam," said Pauline, not bowing in
the least.

" Good-night," she replied, without relaxing her
rigidity.

As soon as they were in the street Pauline said,
" Father, I abhor that woman. If she lives she will kill
her husband."

Mrs. Coleman, on the other hand, at the same moment
said, " Zachariah, Pauline and Caillaud cannot come
to this house again."

" Why not ? "
. " Why not, Zachariah ? I am astonished at you !
The child of a woman who lived in open sin ! "

He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt would
have crossed his mind. That a member of Mr. Brad-
shaw's church could receive such people as Caillaud and
Pauline would have seemed impossible. Nevertheless,
neither Caillaud nor Pauline were now repugnant to him ;
nor did he feel that any soundless gulf separated them
from him, although, so far as he knew his opinions had
undergone no change.

I\Irs. Coleman forbore to pursue the subject, for her
thoughts went off upon another theme, and she was
inwardly wondering whether the Major would ever invite
her to the theatre again. Just as she was going to
sleep, the figure of the Major hovering before her
eyes, she suddenly bethought herself that Pauline,
if not handsome, was attractive. She started, and

io6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

lay awake for an hour. When she rose in the morn-
ing the same thought again presented itself, to dwell
with her hence forwards, and to gnaw her continually
like vitriol.

CHAPTER XI

Politics and Pauline

Sdon after this visit debates arose in Zachariah's club
which afterwards ended in the famous march of the
Blanketeers, as they were called. Matters were becom-
ing very serious, and the Government was thoroughly
alarmed, as well it might be, at the discontent which
was manifest all over the country. The Prince Regent
was insulted as he went to open Parliament, and the
windows of his carriage were broken. It was thought,
and with some reason, that the army could not be
trusted. One thing is certain, that the reformers found
their way into the barracks at Knightsbridge and had
lunch there at the expense of the soldiers, who discussed
Hone's pamphlets and roared with laughter over the
Political Litany. The Prince Regent communicated to
both Houses certain papers, and recommended that they
should at once be taken into consideration. They con-
tained evidence, so the royal message asserted, of treason-
able combinations " to alienate the affections of His
Majesty's subjects from His Majesty's person and
Government," &c. Secret committees were appointed
to consider them both by Lords and Commons, and in
about a fortnight they made their reports. The text
was the Spitalfields meeting of the preceding 2nd of
December. A mob had made it an excuse to march
through the city and plunder some shops. Some of the
charges brought against the clubs by the Lords' Com-
mittee do not now seem so very appalling. One was,
that they were agitating for universal suffrage and annual

107

io8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

Parliaments — " projects," say the Committee, " which
evidently involve, not any qualified or partial change,
but a total subversion of the British constitution."
Another charge was the advocacy of " parochial partner-
ship in lan-d, on the principle that the landholders are
not proprietors in chief ; that they are but stewards of
the public ; that the land is the people's farm ; that
landed monopoly is contrary to the spirit of Christianity
and destructive of the independence and morality of
mankind." The Reform party in Parliament en-
deavoured to prove that the country was in no real
danger, and that the singularly harsh measures proposed
were altogether unnecessary. That was true. There
was nothing to be feared, because there was no organisa-
tion ; but nevertheless, especially in the manufacturing
towns, the suffering was fearful and the hatred of the
Government most bitter. What is so lamentable in the
history of those times is the undisciphned wildness and
feebleness of the attempts made by the people to better
themselves. Nothing is more saddening than the
spectacle of a huge mass of humanity goaded, writhing,
starving, and yet so ignorant that it cannot choose
capable leaders, cannot obey them if perchance it gels
them, and does not even know how to name its wrongs.
The governing classes are apt to mistake the absurdity
of the manner in which a popular demand expresses
itself for absurdity of the demand itself ; but in truth
the absurdity of the expression makes the demand more
noteworthy and terrible. Bamford, when he came to
London in the beginning of 1817, records the impression
which the clubs made upon him. He went to several
and found them all alike ; " each man with his porter-
pot before him and a pipe in his mouth ; many speaking
at once, more talkers than thinkers ; more speakers
than listeners. Presently ' Order ' would be called, and
comparative silence would ensue ; a speaker, stranger
or citizen, would be announced with much courtesy and
compliment. ' Hear, hear, hear ' would follow, with
clapping of hands and knocldng of knuckles on the tables,
till the half-pints danced ; then a speech, with compli-
ments to some brother orator or popular statesman ;

POLITICS AND PAULINE 109

next a resolution in favour of Parliamentary Refomn,
and a speech to second it ; an amendment on some minor
point would follow ; a seconding of that ; a breach of
order by some individual of warm temperament ; half
a dozen would rise to set him right ; a dozen to put them
down ; and the vociferation and gesticulation would
become loud and confounding."

The Manchester clubs had set their hearts upon an
expedition to London — thousands strong ; each man
with a blanket to protect him and a petition in his hand.
The discussion on this project was long and eager. The
Major, Caillaud and Zachariah steadfastly opposed it ;
not because of its hardihood, but because of its folly.
They were outvoted ; but they conceived themselves
loyally bound to make it a success. Zachariah and
Caillaud were not of much use in organisation, and the
whole burden fell upon the Major. Externally gay, and
to most persons justifying the charge of frivolity, he
wa5 really nothing of the kind when he had once settled
down to the work he was born to do. His levity was the
mere idle sport of a mind unattached and seeking its
own proper object. He was like a cat, which will play
with a ball or its own tail in the sunshine, but if a mouse
or a bird crosses its path will fasten on it with sudden
ferocity. He wrought hke a slave during the two
months before the eventful loth March 181 7, and well
nigh broke his heart over the business. Everything had
to be done subterraneously ; for though the Habeas
Corpus Act was not yet suspended, preparations for what
looked like war were perilous. But this was not the
greatest difficulty. He pleaded for dictatorial powers,
and at once found he had made himself suspected there-
by. He was told bluntly that working men did not
mean to exchange one despot for another, and that they
were just as good as he was. Any other man would
have thrown up his commission in disgust, but not so
Major Maitland. He persevered unnaggingly, although
a sub-committee had been appointed to act with him
and check liis proceedings. The secretary of this very
sub-committee, who was also treasurer, was one of the
causes of the failure of the enterprise, for when the

no THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

march began neither he nor the funds with which he
had been entrusted could be found. After the club
meetings in the evening there was often an adjournment
to Caillaud's lodgings, where the Major, Zachariah,
Caillaud, and Pauline sat up till close upon midnight.
One evening there was an informal conference of this
kind prior to the club meeting on the following night.
The Major was not present, for he was engaged in making
some arrangements for the commissariat on the march.
He had always insisted on it that they were indispensable,
and he had been bitterly opposed the week before by
some of his brethren, who were in favour of extempore
foraging which looked very much like plunder. He
carried his point, notwithstanding some sarcastic abuse
and insinuations of half-heartedness, which had touched
also Caillaud and Zachariah, who supported him.
Zachariah was much depressed.

" Mr. Coleman, you are dull," said PauUne. " What
is the matter ? "

" Dull ! — that's not exactly the word. I was thinking
of to-morrow."

" Ah ! I thought so. Well ? "

Zachariah hesitated a Httle. "Is it worth all the
trouble ? " at last he said, an old familiar doubt recurring
to him — " Is it worth all the trouble to save them ?
What are they ? — and, after all, what can we do for
them .'' Suppose we succeed, and a hundred thousand
creatures hke those who blackguarded us last week get
votes, and get their taxes reduced, and get all they want,
what then ? "

Pauline broke in with aU the eagerness of a woman
who is struck with an idea — " Stop, stop, Mr. Coleman.
Here is the mistake you make. Grant it all — grant your
achievomcnt is ridiculously small — is it not worth the
sacrifice of two or three hke you and me to accomplish
it ? That is our error. We think ourselves of such
mighty importance. The question is, whether we are
of such importance, and whether the progress of the
world one inch will not be cheaply purchased by the
annihilation of a score of us. You believe in what you
call salvation. You would struggle and die to save a

POLITICS AND PAULINE iii

soul ; but in reality you can never save a man ; you
must be content to struggle and die to save a little bit
of him — to prevent one habit from descending to his
children. You won't save him wholly, but you may
arrest the propagation of an evil trick, and so improve a
trifle — just a trifle — whole generations to come. Be-
sides, I don't believe what you will do is nothing. ' Give
a hundred thousand blackguard creatures votes ' — well,
that is something. You are disappointed they do not at
once become converted and all go to chapel. That is
not the way of the Supreme. Your hundred thousand
get votes, and perhaps are none the better, and die as
they were before they had votes. But the Supreme has
a million, or millions, of years before Him."

Zachariah was silent. Fond of dialectic, he generally
strove to present the other side ; but he felt no disposi-
tion to do so now, and he tried rather to connect what
she had said with something which he already
believed.

" True," he said at last ; " true, or true in part. What
are we ? — what are we ? " and so Pauline's philosophy
seemed to reconcile itself with one of his favourite
dogmas, but it had not quite the same meaning which
it had for him ten years ago.

" Besides," said Caillaud, " we hate Liverpool and all
his crew. When I think of that speech at the opening
of Parliament I become violent. There it is ; I have
stuck it up over the mantelpiece :

" Deeply as I lament the pressure of these evils upon
the country, I am sensible that they are of a nature not to
admit oj an immediate remedy. But ivhilst I observe with
peculiar satisfaction the fortitude with which so matiy
privations have been boriie, and the active benevolence which
has been employed to mitigate them, I am persuaded that
the great sources of our national prosperity are essentially
tcnimpaircd * and I entertain a confident expectation thai
the native energy of the country will at no distant period
surmount all the difficulties in which we are involved."

" My God," continued Caillaud, " I could drive a knife
into the heart of the man who thus talks ! "

112 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" No murder, Caillaud," said Zachariah.

" Well, no. What is it but a word ? Let tis say
sacrifice. Do you call the death of your Charles a
murder ? No ; and the reason why you do not is what ?
Not that it was decreed by a Court. There have been
many murders decreed by Courts according to law. Was
not the death of your Jesus Christ a murder ? Murder
means death for base, selfish ends. What said Jesus —
that He came to send a sword ? Of course He did.
Every idea is a sword. \Vhat a God He was ! He was
the first who ever cared for the people — for the real
people, the poor, the ignorant, the fools, the weak-
minded, the slaves. The Greeks and Romans thought
nothing of these. I salute thee, O Thou Son of the
People ! " and Caillaud took down a little crucifix which,
strange to say, always hung in his room, and reverently
incUned himself to it. " A child of the people," he con-
tinued, " in ever>i;hing, simple, foolish, wise, ragged.
Divine, martyred Hero."

Zachariah was not astonished at this melodramatic
display, for he knew Caillaud well ; and although this
was a little more theatrical than anything he had ever
seen before, it was not out of keeping with his friend's
character. Nor was it insincere, for Caillaud was not an
Enghshman. Moreover, there is often more insincerity
in purposely lowering the expression beneath the thought,
and denying the thought thereby, than in a little exag-
geration. Zachariah, although he was a Briton, had no
liking for that hypocrisy which takes a pride in reducing
the extraordinary to the commonplace, and in forcing
an ignoble form upon that which is highest. The con-
versation went no further. At last Caillaud said ;

" Come, Pauline, a tune ; we have not had one for a
long time."

Pauline smiled, and went into her little room. Mean-
while her father removed chairs and table, piling them
one on another so as to leave a clear space. He and
Zachariah crouched into the recess by the fireplace.
Pauline entered in the selfsame short black dress trimmed
with red, with the red artificial flower, wearing the same
red stockings and dancing-slippers, but without the

POLITICS AND PAULINE 113

shawl. The performance this time was not quite what
it was when Zachariah had seen it in London. Between
herself and the corner where Zachariah and her father
were seated she now had an imaginary partner, before
whom she advanced, receded, bowed, displayed herself
in the most exquisitely graceful attitudes, never once
overstepping the mark, and yet showing every limb and
line to the utmost advantage. Zachariah, as before,
followed every movement with eager — shall we say with
hungry eyes ? He was so unused to exhibitions of ths
kind that their grace was not, as it should have been,
their only charm ; for, as we before observed, in his
chapel circle even ordinary dancing was a thing pro-
hibited. The severity of manners to which he had been
accustomed tended to produce an effect the very opposite
to that which was designed ; for it can hardly be doubted
that if it were the custom in England for women to con-
ceal the face, a glimpse of an eye or a nose would excite
unpleasant thoughts.

The dance came to an end, and as it was getting late
Zachariah rose.

" Stop," said Cailland. " It is agreed that if they
persist on this march, one or the other of us goes too.
The Major will be sure to go. Which shall it be, you
or me ? "

" We will draw lots."

" Good." And Zachariah departed, Pauline laugh-
ingly making him one of her costume curtseys. He was
very awkward. He never knew how to conduct himself
becomingly, or with even good manners, on common-
place occasions. When he was excited in argument he
was completely equal to the best company, and he
would have held his own on level terms at a Duke's
dinner-party, provided only the conversation were inter-
esting. But when he was not intellectually excited he
was lubberly. He did not know what response to make
to Pauline's graceful adieu, and retreated sheepishly
W^hen he got home he found his wife waiting for him.
The supper was cleared away, and, as usual, she was
reading, or pretending to be reading, the Bible.

" You have had supper, of course ? " There was a

114 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

peculiar tone in the " of course," as if she meant to imply
not merely that it was late, but that he had preferred to
have it with somebody else.

" I do not want any."

" Then we had better have prayers."

CHAPTER XII

One Body and One Spirit

Next week Zachariah found it necessary to consult with
Caillaud again. The Major was to be there. The in-
tended meeting was announced to Mrs. Coleman by her
husband at breakfast on the day before, and he informed
her that he should probably be late, and that no supper
need be kept for him.

" Why do you never meet here, Zachariah ? Why
must it always be at Caillaud's ? "

" Did you not say that they should not come to this
house again ? "

" Yes ; but I meant I did not want to see them as
friends. On business there is no reason why Caillaud
should not come."

" I cannot draw the line."

" Zachariah, do you mean to call uncon\'erted infidels
your friends ? "

They were his friends- — he felt they were — and they
were dear to him ; but he was hardly able as yet to
confess it, even to himself.

" It will not do," he said. " Besides, Caillaud will be
sure to bring his daughter."

" She will not be so bold as to come if she is not asked.
Do / go with you anywhere except when I a.m asked ? "

" She has always been used to go out with her father
wherever he goes. She knows all his affairs, and is very
useful to him."

"So it seems. She must be very useful. Well, if it
must be so, and it is on business, invite her too."

i'5

ii6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" I think still it will be better at Caillaud's; there is
more room. There would be five of us."

" How do you make live ?

"• There is the Major. And why, by the way, do you
object to Caillaud and Pauhne more than the Major ?
He is not converted."

" Theie is plenty of room here. I didn't say I didn't
object to the Major. Besides, there is a difference
between French infidels and English people, even if they
are not church members. But I see how it is. You want
to go there, and you will go. I am of no use to you.
You care nothing for me. You can talk to such dreadful
( reatures as Caillaud and that woman who lives with
iiim, and you never talk to me. Oh, I wish Mr. Bradshaw
were here, or I were back again at home ! What would
Mr. Bradshaw say ?

Mrs. Coleman covered her face in her hands.

Zachariah felt no pity. His anger was roused. He
was able to say hard things at times, and there was even
a touch of brutality in him.

" Whose fault is it that I do not talk to you ? When
did I ever get any help from you ? What do you under-
^ tand about what concerns me, and when have you ever
iried to understand anything ? Your home is no home
to me. My life is blasted, and it might have been differ-
ent. The meeting shall not be here, and I will do as I
please."

He went out of the room in a rage, and downstairs
into the street, going straight to his work. It is a terrible
moment when the first bitter quarrel takes place, and
when hatred, even if it be hatred for the moment only
first finds expression. That moment can never be re-
♦:aned ! Is it ever really forgotten, or really forgiven ?
Some of us can call to mind a word, just one word,
spoken, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years ago, which
rings in our ears even to-day as distinctly as when it
was uttered, and forces the blood into the head as it did
then. When Zachariah returned that night he and his
wife spoke to each other as if nothing had happened,
but they spoke only about indifferent things. The next
day Mrs. Coleman wondered whether, after all, he would

ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT 117

repent ; but the evening came and she waited and
waited in vain. The poor woman for hours and hours
had thought one thought and one thought only, until
at last she could bear it no longer. At about eight
o'clock she rose, put on her cloak, and went out of doors.
She made straight for Caillaud's house. It was cold,
and the sky was clear at intervals, with masses of clouds
sweeping over the nearly full moon. What she was to
do when she got to Caillaud's had not entered her head.
She came to the door and stopped. It had just begun
to rain heavily. The sitting-room was on the ground-
floor, abutting on the pavement. The blind was drawn
down, but not closely, and she could see inside. Caillaud
Pauline, and Zachariah were there, but not the Major.
Caillaud was sitting by the fireside ; her husband and
Pauline were talking earnestly across the table. Ap-
parently both of them were much interested, and his
face was lighted up as she never saw it when he was with
her. She was fascinated, and could not move. It was
a dull lonely street and nobody was to be seen that wet
night. She had no protection from the weather but her
cloak, and in ten minutes, as the rain came down more
heavily, she was wet through and shivering from head
to foot — she who was usually so careful, so precise, so
singularly averse from anything like disorder. Still she
watched — watched every movement of those two— every
smile, every gesture ; and when Caillaud went out of the
room, perhaps to fetch something, she watched with
increasing and self-forgetting intensity. She had not
heard footsteps approaching. The wind had risen ; the
storm was ever fiercer and fiercer, and the feverish
energy which poured itself into her eyes had drained and
deadened every other sense.

" Well, my good woman, what do you want ? "

She turned with a start, and it was the Major !

" Mrs. Coleman ! Good God ! what are you doing
here ? You are soaked. Why don't you come
in ? "

■' Oh no, Major Maitland ; indeed I cannot. I — I had
been out, and I had just stopped a moment. I didn't
know it was going to rain."

ii8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" But I say you are dripping. Come in and see your
husband ; he will go with you."

" Oh no, Major, please don't ; please don't mention
it to him ; oh no, please don't ; he would be very
vexed. I shall be all right ; I will go on at once and
dry myself."

" You cannot go alone. I will see you as far as your
house. Here, take my coat and put it over your
shoulders."

The Major took off a heavy cloak with capes, wrapped
it round her, drew her arm through his, and they went
to her lodgings. She forgot Zachariah, Caillaud, and
Pauhne. When they arri\-ed she returned the cloak
and than-ked him. She dared not ask him upstairs and
he made no offer to stay.

" Please say nothing to my husband ; promise you
will not. He would be in such a way if he thought I had
been out ; but I could not help it."

" Oh, certamly not, Mrs. Coleman, if you wish it ;
though I am sure he wouldn't, he couldn't be angry
with you."

She lingered as he took the coat.

" Come inside and put it on. Major Maitland ; why,
it is you who are dripping now. You will not wear that
over your sopped clothes. Cannot I lend you something ?
Won't you have something hot to drink ? "

" No, thank you. I think not ; it is not so bad as all
that."

He shook hands with her and had gone.

She went upstairs into her dark room. The fire was
out. She hghted no candle, but sat down just as she
was, put her head on the table, and sobbed as if her heart
would break. She was very seldom overcome by emotion
of this kind, and used to be proud that she had never
once in her life fainted, and was not given to hysterics.
Checked at last by a deadly shivering which came over
her, she took off her wet garments, threw them over a
chair, and crept into bed, revolving in her mind the ex-
planation which she could give to her husband. When
she saw him, and he inquired about her clothes, she
offered some trifling excuse, which seemed \-ery readily

ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT 119

to satisfy him, for he made scarcely any reply, and was
soon asleep. This time it was her turn to he awake,
and the morning found her restless, and with every symp-
tom of a serious illness approaching.

CHAPTER XIII

To THE Greeks Foolishness

Neither Mrs. Coleman nor her husband thought it
anything worse than a feverish cold, and he went to his
work. It was a club night, the night on which the final
arrangements for the march were to be made, and he did
not Uke to be away. His wife was to lie in bed ; but a
woman in the house offered to wait upon her and bring
what little food she wanted. It was settled at the club
that the Major should accompany the expedition and
Zachariah and Caillaud having drawn lots, the lot fell
upon Caillaud. A last attempt was made to dissuade the
majority from the undertaking ; but it had been made
before, not only by our three friends, but by other
I^ncashire societies, and had failed. The only effect its
renewal had now was a disagreeable and groundless
insinuation wliich was unendurable. On liis return from
the meeting Zachariah was alarmed. His wife was in
great pain, and had taken next to nothing all day. Late
as it was, he went for a doctor, who would give no opinion
as to the nature of the disease then, but merely ordered
her some kmd of sedative mixture, which happily gave
her a little sleep. Zachariah was a working man and a
poor man. Occasionally it does happen that a working
man and a poor man has nerves, and never does his
poverty appear so hateful to him as when he has sickness
in his house.

The mere discomforts of poverty are bad enough — -
the hunger and cold of it^ — but worse than all is the

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS I3i

impossibility of being decently ill, or decently dying, or of
paying any attention to those who take it into their heads
to be ♦ill or to die. A man tolerably well off can at least
get his wife some help when she is laid up, and when she
is near her end can remain with her to take her last kiss
and blessing. Not so the bricklayer's labourer. If his
wife is in bed, he must depend upon charity for medicine
and attendance. And although he knows he will never
see her again, he is forced away to the job on which he
is employed ; for if he does not go he will lose it, and
must apply to the parish for a funeral. Happily the
poor are not slow to help one another. The present
writer has known women who have to toil hard all day
long, sit up night after night with their neighbours, and
watch them with the most tender care. Zachariah
found it so in his case. A fellow-lodger, the mother of
half-a-dozen children, a woman against whom the Cole-
mans had conceived a prejudice, and whom they had
avoided, came forward and modestly asked Zachariah if
she might " look after " Mrs. Coleman while he was away.
He thought for a moment of sundry harsh things which
he had said about her, and then a well-known parable
came into his mind about a certain Samaritan, and he
could have hugged her with joy at her offer.

Mrs. Carter was one of those healthy, somewhat
red-faced, gay creatures whom nothing represses. She
was never melancholy with those who were suffer-
ing ; not because she had no s\Tnpathy — ^for she
was profoundly sympathetic — but because she was un-
subduable. Her pulse was quick, and her heart so sound
that her blood, rich and strong — blood with never a
taint in it — renewed every moment every fibre of her
brain. Her very presence to those who were desponding
was a magnetic charm and she could put to flight legions
of hypochondriacal fancies with a cheery word. Critics
said she ruled her husband ; but what" husband would
not rejoice in being so ruled ? He came home weary
and he did not want to rule. He wanted to be directed,
and he gladly saw the reins in the hands of his " missus,"
of whom he was justly proud. She conducted all the

122 THE REVOLUTION IX TANNER'S LANE

conversation ; she spent his money, and even bought
liim his own clothes ; and although she said a sharp
thing or two now and then, she never really quarrelled
with him. The eldest of her six children was only twelve
years old, and she was not over methodical, so that her
apartments were rather confused and disorderly. She
was not, however, dirty, and would not tolerate dirt
even in her boys, to whom, by the way, she administered
very short and sharp corrections sometimes. If they
came to the table with grimy paws, the first intimation
they had that their mother noticed it was a rap on the
knuckles with the handle of a knife which sent the bread
and butter flying out of their fingers. She read no books,
and, what was odd in those days, did not go to chapel
or church ; but she had her " opinions," as she called
them, upon ev^ery thing which was stirring in the world,
and never was behindhand in the news. She was really
happier when she found that she had to look after Mrs.
Coleman. She bustled about, taking directions from
the doctor — not without some scepticism, for she had
notions of her own on the subject of disease — and going
up and down stairs continually to see how her patient
was getting on. It was curious that although she was a
heavy woman she was so active. She was always on her
legs from morning to night, and never seemed fatigued.
Indeed, when she sat still .she was rather uncomfortable ;
and this was her weak point, for her restlessness inter-
fered with sewing and mending, which she abominated.

The time for the march was close at hand The Habeas
Corpus Act had meanwhile been suspended and every
reformer had to walk very warily. Ogden, in whose
office it will be remembered that Zachariah was engaged,
liad issued a handbill informing all the inhabitants of
Manchester and its neighbourhood that on the loth
March a meeting would be held near St. Peter's Church
of those persons who had determined to carry their
petitions to London. Zachariah, going to his shop, as
usual, on the morning of the loth — a Monday — was
astonished to find that Ogden was arrested and in prison.

We must, however, for a time, follow the fortunes of

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 123

Caillaud and the Major on that day. They were both
astir at five o'clock, and joined one another at the club.
All the members were to assemble there at seven. Never
was the Major more despondent. As for organisation,
there was none, and every proposal he had made liad been
thwarted. He saw M^ell enough, as a soldier, that ten
times the enthusiasm at his command would never
carry a hundred men to London in that cold weather,
and that if twenty thousand started, the number would
be the difficulty. The Yeomanry cavalry were under
orders to oppose them, and what could an undisciplined
mob do against a semi-military force ? The end of it
would be the prompt dispersion of the pilgrims and the
discredit of the cause. Nevertheless, both he and Cail-
laud had determined not to desert it. The absence of
all preparations on the part of these poor Blanketeers
was, in truth, very touching, as it showed the innocent
confidence which they had in the justice of their con-
tention. Their avowed object was to present a petition
personally to the Prince Regent, that they might " un-
deceive " him ; as if such a thing were possible, or, being
possible, would be of the shghtest service. The whole
country would rise and help them ; their journey would
be a triumphal procession ; they were not a hostile army ;
the women would come to the doors and offer them bread
and milk ; they would reach London ; Lord Liverpool
would resign ; and they would come back to Manchester
with banners flying, having saved their country. At
nine o'clock the club was in St. Peter's fields, and a kind
of platform had been erected, from which an address was
to be given. Caillaud and the Major were down below.
Both of them were aghast at what they saw. Thousands
of men were present with whom they were unacquainted,
who had been attracted by Ogden's proclamation ; some
with coats ; others without conts ; some with sticks ;
some with petitions ; but most of them with blankets,
which they had rolled up like knapsacks. The Major's
heart sank within him. What on earth could he do ?
Nothing except accompany them and try to prevent
colhsion with the troops. The magistrates were

124 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

distracted by no doubts whatever. They read the Riot
Act, although there was no riot, nor the semblance of
one, and forthwith surrounded the platform and carried
off everyone on it to prison. The crowd was then chased
by the soldiers and special constables, till all power of
combination was at an end. About three hundred,
however, were collected, and found their way to Ardwack
Green. They had been joined by others on the route,
and the Major informally reviewed his men. Never,
surely, was there such a regiment ! never, surely, did any
regiment go on such an errand ! Ragged many of them ;
ignorant all, fanatical, penniless, they determined, in
spite of all arguments, to proceed. He pointed out that
if they could be so easily scattered when they were
thousands strong, every one of them would be cut down
or captured before they were twenty miles on the road.
He was answered as before with contempt and suspicions
of cowardice. A Methodist, half-starved, grey-haired,
with black rings round his eyes and a yellow face,
harangued them.

" My friends," he said, " we have been told to go back ;
that we are too few to accomplish the task to which we
liave set ourselves. What said the Lord unto Gideon,
Judges vii. : ' The people that are with thee are too
many for me to give the Midianites into their hands,
lest Israel vaunt themselves against me, saying, Mine
own hand hath saved me. Now therefore go to, pro-
claim in the ears of the people, saying, Whosoever is
fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early from
Gilead.' Well, twenty-two thousand went back and at
last Gideon had only the three hundred who lapped the
water. By those three hundred Israel was saved from
the Midianites. Our thousands have left us ; but we
shall triumph. It may be the Lord's will that more
should depart. It may be that there are yet too many.
I say, then, in the words of Gideon, ' Whosoever is fear-
ful and afraid, let him return.' Is there anybody ? "
(Loud shouts answered "None.") " The Lord is with
us," continued the speaker — " the sword of the Lord and
of Gideon ! " Every one shouted again.

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 125

Respectable Manchester was frightened when the
Blanketeers met, and laughed them to scorn when they
were dispersed. No wonder at the laughter. What
could be more absurd ? And yet, when we call to mind
the THING then on the throne ; the thing that gave
;^i8o for an evening coat, and incurred enormous debts,
while his people were perishing ; the thing that drank
and lied and whored ; the thing that never did nor said
nor thouglit anything that was not utterly birutish and
contemptible — when we think that the thing was a
monarch. Heaven-ordained, so it was said, on which side
does the absurdity really lie ? Of a truth, not only is
the vvisdom of this world foohshness, as it ever was, but
that which to this world is foolishness is adjudged wisdom
by the Eternal Arbiter. The Blanketeers shivering on
Ardwick Green, the weavers who afterwards drilled on
the Lancashire moors, and were hung according to law,
or killed at Peterloo, are less ridiculous than those who
hung or sabred them, less ridiculous than the Crimean
war and numberless dignified events in human history,
the united achievements of the sovereigns and ministries
of Europe.

The route of the three hundred was towards Stockport ;
but when they reached the bridge they found it occupied
by the Yeomanry and a troop of the Life Guards. To
attempt to force a passage was impossible ; but numb ers
threw themselves into the river, and so crossed. The
soldiers then withdrew into Stockport town, and the
bridge was left open to the main body. When they got
into the street on the other side the soldiers and pohce
dashed at them, and arrested everybody whom they
could catch. The Major was foremost in the crowd,
endeavouring to preserve some sort of discipline, and one
of the Yeomanry, suspecting him to be a leader, rode up
to him, and, leaning from his horse, collared him. He
was unarmed ; but he was a powerful man, and wrenched
himself free. The soldier drew his sword, and although
Caillaud was close by, and attempted to parry the blow
with a stick, the Major lay a dead man on the ground.
The next moment, however, the soldier himself was dead

126 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

— dead from a pistol-shot fired by Caillaud, who was
instantly seized, handed over to a guard, and marched
off with a score of others to Manchester jail. A renanant
only of the Blanketeers escaped from Stockport, and a
smaller remnant got to Macclesfield. There there was
no shelter for them, and many of them lay in the
streets all night. When the morning dawned only
twenty went on into Staffordshire, and these shortly
afterwards separated, and wandered back to Manchester.
The sword of Gideon was, alas ! not the sword of the
Lord, and aching hearts in that bitter March weather
felt that there was something worse than the cold to be
borne at they struggled homewards. Others, amongst
whom wa^ our Methodist orator, were not discouraged.
It is a poor religion which makes no provision for dis-
aster, and even for apparently final failure. The test of
faith is its power under defeat, and these silly God-fearing
souls argued to themselves that their Master's time was
not their time ; that perhaps they were being punished
for their sins, and that when it pleased Him they would
triumph. Essentially right they were, right in every
particular, excepting, perhaps, that it was not for their
own sins that this sore visitation came upon them.
Visitation for sin it was certainly, but a visitation for
the sins of others — such is the way of Providence, and
has been ever since the world began, much to the amaze-
ment of many reflective persons. Thou hast laid on
Him the iniquity of us all, and Jesus is crucified rather
than the Scribes and Pharisees ! Yet could we really
wish it otherwise ? Would it have been better in the
end that Caiaphas and the elders should have been
nailed upon Calvary, and Jesus die at a good old age,
crowned with honour ? It was not yet God's time in
1 817, but God's time was helped forward, as it generally
is, by this anticipation of it. It is a commonplace that
a premature outbreak puts back the hands of the clock
and is a blunder. Nine times out of ten this is untrue,
and a revolt instantaneously quenched in blood is not
merely the precursor, but the direct progenitor of
success.

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 127

We will spend no time over the death of Major Mait-
land. The tragic interest, as one of our greatest masters
has said, lies not with the corpse but with the mourners ,
and we turn back to Zachariah. Ogden's office was
shut. On the night after the breakdown at Stockport
a note in pencil was left at Zachariah's house, in Pauline's
handwriting. It was very short : — " Fly for your life
— they will have you to-night.— P."

Fly for his life ! But how could he fly, with his wife
in bed and with no work before him ? Would it not
be base to leave her ? Then it occurred to him that if
he were taken and imprisoned, he would be altogether
incapable of helping her. He determined to speak to
Mrs. Carter. He showed her the note, and she was
troubled with no hesitation of any kind.

" My good man," she said, " you be off this minute.
That's what you've got to do. Never mind your wife ;
I'll see after her. Expense ? Lord, Mr. Coleman,
what's that ? She don't eat much. Besides, we'll
settle all about that afterwards."

Zachariah hesitated.

" Now don't stand shilly-shallying and a-thinking
and a-thinking, — that never did anybody any good.
I can't a-bear a man as thinks and thinks when there's
anything to be done as plain as the nose in his face.
Where's your bag ? "

Mrs. Carter was out of the room in an instant, and
in ten minutes came back with a change of clothes.

" Now, let us know where you are ; but don't send
your letters here. You write to my sister ; there's her
address. You needn't go up there ; your wife's asleep.
I'll bid her good-bye for you. Take my advice — get
out of this county somewhere, and get out of Manchester
to-night."

" I must go upstairs to get some money," and
Zachariah stole into his bedroom to take half a little
hoard which was in a desk there. His wife, as Mrs.
Carter had said, was asleep. He went to her bedside
and looked at her. She was pale and worn. Lying
there unconscious, all the defects which had separated

128 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

him from her vanished. In sleep and death the divine
element of which we are compounded reappears, and
we cease to hate or criticise ; we can only weep or pray.
He looked and looked again. The hours of first love
and courtship passed before him ; he remembered what
she was to him then, and he thought that perhaps the
fault, after all, might have been on his side, and that he
had perhaps not tried to understand her. He thought
of her loneliness — taken away by him into a land of
strangers — and now he was about to desert her ; he
thought, too, that she also was one of God's children
just as much as he was ; perhaps more so. The tears
filled his eyes, although he was a hard, strong man not
used to tears, and something rose in his throat and
almost choked him. He was about to embrace her ;
but he dared not disturb her. He knelt down at the
foot of the bed, and in an agony besought his God to
have mercy on him. " God have mercy on me ! God
have mercy on her ! " That was all he could say —
nothing else, although he had been used to praying
habitually. His face was upon her feet, as she lay
stretched out there, • and he softly uncovered one of
them, so gently that she could not perceive it. Spot-
lessly white it was, and once upon a time she was so
attractive to him because she was so exquisitely scrupu-
lous ! He bent his lips over it, kissed it — she stirred,
but did not wake ; a great cry almost broke from him,
but he stifled it and rose. There was a knock at the
door, and he started. It was Mrs. Carter.

" Come," she said as he went out, " you have been
here long enough. Poor dear man ! — there, there — of
course it's hard to bear — poor dear man 1 " — and the
good creature put her hand affectionately on his shoulder.

" I don't know how it is," she continued, wiping her
eyes with her apron, " I can't a-bear to see a man cry.
It always up=ets me. My husband ain't done it above
once or twice in his life, and. Lord, I'd sooner a cried
myself all night long. Good-bye, my dear, good-bye,
good-bye ; God bless you ! It will all come right."

In another minute Zachariah was out of doors. It

TO THE GREEKS F00LISHNE:5S 129

was dark, and getting late. The cold air revived him,
but he could not for some time come to any determina-
tion as to what he ought to do next. He was not well
acquainted with the country round Manchester, and he
could not decide to what point of the compass it would
be safest to bend his steps. At last he remembered
that at any rate he must escape from the town boun-
daries, and get a night's lodging somewhere outside
them. With the morning some light would possibly
dawn upon him.

Pauline's warning was well-timed, for the constables
made a descent upon Caillaud's lodgings as soon as
they got him into jail, and thence proceeded to Cole-
man's. They insisted on a search, and Mrs. Carter gave
them a bit of her mind, for they went into every room of
the house, and even into Mrs. Coleman's bedroom.

" I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Nadin," she said, turning
towards the notorious chief constable, " if God A'mighty
had to settle who was to be hung in Manchester, it
•wouldn't be any of them poor Blanketeers. Wouldn't
you like to strip the clothes off the bed ? That would
he just in your line."

" Hold your damned tongue ! " quoth Mr. Nadin ;
but, nevertheless, seeing his men grinning and a little
ashamed of themselves, he ordered them back.

Meanwhile Zachariah pursued his way north-west-
ward unchallenged, and at last came to a roadside inn,
which he thought looked safe. He walked in, and
found half a dozen decent-looking men sitting round a
fire and smoking. One of them was a parson, and
another was one of the parish overseers. It was about
half-past ten, and they were not merry, but a trifle
boozy and stupid. Zachariah called for a pint of beer
and some bread and cheese, and asked if he could have
a bed. The man who served him didn't know ; but
would go and see. Presently the overseer was beckoned
out of the room, and the man came back again and
informed Zachariah that there was no bed for him,
and that he had better make haste with his supper,
as the house would close at eleven. In a minute or

130 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

two the door opened again, and a poor, emaciated
weaver entered and asked the overseer for some help.
His wife, he said, was down with the fever ; he had
no work ; he had had no victuals all day, and he and
his iamily were starving. He was evidently known to
the company.

" Ah," said the overseer, " no work, and the fever,
and starving ; that's what they always say. I'll bet
a sovereign you've been after them Blanketeers."

" It's a judgment on you," observed the parson.
" You and your like go setting class against class ; you
never come near the church, and then you wonder God
Almighty punishes you."

" You can come on your knees to us when it suits
you, and you'd burn my rick to-morrow," said a third.

" There's a lot of fever amongst 'em down my way,"
said another, whose voice was rather thick, " and a
damned lot of expense they are, too, for physic and
funerals. It's my belief that they catch it out of spite."

" Aren't you going to give me nothing ? " said the
man. " There isn't a mouthful of food in the place,
and the wife may be dead before the morning."

Well, what do you say, parson ? " said the overseer.

" I say we've got quite enough to do to help those
who deserve help," he replied, " and that it's flying in
the face of Providence to interfere with its judgment."
With that he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and
took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water.

There was an echo of assent.

" God have mercy on me ! " said the man, as he sat
down on the form by the table. Zachariah touched
him gently, and pushed the plate and jug to him. He
looked at Zachariah, and without saying a word, de-
voured it greedily. He just had time to finish, for
the landlord, entering the room, roughly ordered them
to turn out. Out they went accordingly.

" The Lord in heaven curse them ! " exclaimed
Zachariah 's companion when they were in the road.

I could have ripped 'em up, every one of 'em. My
wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and there

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 131

a'nt a lump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, nor a farthing
in the house."

" Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use."

" Ah ! it's all very well to talk ; you've got money
maybe."

" Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and
I'm driven away from home. Here's half of what's
left."

" What a sinner I am ! " said the other. " You
wouldn't think it, to hear me go on as I did, but I am
a Methodist. The last two or three days, though, I've
been like a raving madman. That's the worst of it.
Starvation has brought the devil into me. I'm not
a-going to take all that though, master ; I'll take some
of it ; and if ever I prayed to the Throne of Grace in
my life, I'll pray for j-ou. Who are you ? Where are
you going ? "

Zachariah felt that he could safely trust him, and
told him what had happened.

" I haven't got a bit of straw myself on which to put
you ; but you come along with me."

They walked together for about half a mile, till they
came to a barn. There was a haystack close by, and
they dragged some of the dry hay into it.

" You'd better be away from these parts afore it's
light, and, if you take my advice, Liverpool is the best
place for you."

He was right. Liverpool was a large town, and,,
what was of more consequence, it was not so revolu-
tionary as Manchester, and the search there for the
suspected was not so strict. The road was explained,
so far as Zachariah 's friend knew it, and they
parted

Zachariah slept but little, and at four o'clock, with
a bright moon, he started. He met with no particular
adventure, and in the evening found himself once more
in a wilderness of strange streets, witli no outlook, face
to face with the Red Sea. Happy is the man who, if
he is to have an experience of this kind, is trained to
it when young, and is not suddenly brought to it after

132 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

a bfe of security. Zachariah, although he was despond-
ing, could now say he had been in the same straits
before, and had survived. That is the consolation of
all consolations to us. We have actually touched and
handled the skeleton, and after all we have not been
struck dead.*

" O socii, neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum,,
O passi graviora, dabit Deus his quoque finem.
Vos at Scyllaeam rabiem penitusque sonantes
Accestis scopulos ; vos at Cyclopia saxa
Experti. Revocate animos, moestumque timoram
Mittite ; forsan at haec dim meminisse juvabit."

He wandered down to the water and saw a ship
cleared for some port across the Atlantic. A longing
seized him to go with her. Over the sea, — he thought
there he would be at rest. So we all think, and as we
watch the vessels dropping below the horizon in the
sunset cloud, we imagine them bound with a happy
crew to islands of the blest, the truth being that the
cloud is a storm, and the destined port is as common-

* " O za (ye) my feris (companions) and deir freyndis, quod he,
Of bywent perillis not ignorant ben we,
Ze have sustenit gretir dangeris unkend,
Like as hereof God sail make sone ane end :
The rage of Silla, that huge sweste (whirlpool) in the se
Ze have eschapit and passit eik (each) have ze :
The euer (pot) routand (roaring) Caribdis rokkis fell
The craggis quhare monstruous Cyclopes dwell :
Ze are expert : pluk up zour harts, I zou pray,
This dolorous drede expell and do away.
Sum tyme thereon to think may help perchance."

— Gawin Douglas.
" Kndura and conquer ! Jove will soon dispose,

To future good, our past and present woes.

With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried ;

Th' inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied.

What greater ills hereafter can 3'ou bear !

Resume your courage, and dismiss your care.

An hour will come, with pleasure to relate

Your sorrows past, as benefits of fate,"

— Dry den.

TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 133

place and full of misery as the one they have left.
Zachariah, however, did not suffer himself to dream.
He went diligently and systematically to work ; but
this time all his efforts were fruitless. He called on
every printing-office he could find, and there was not
one which wanted a hand, or saw any prospect of want-
ing one. He thought of trying the river-side ; but he
stood no chance there, as he had never been accustomed
to carry heavy weights. His money was running short,
and at last, when evening came on the third day, arid
he was faint with fatigue, his heart sank. He was iil,
too, and sickness began to cloud his brain. As the
power of internal resistance diminishes, the circum-
stance of the external world presses on us like the air
upon an exhausted glass ball, and finally crushes us.
It saddened him, too, to think, as it has saddened
thousands before him, that the fight which he fought,
and the death which, perhaps, was in front of him,
were so mean. Ophelia dies ; Juliet dies, and we
fancy that their fate, although terrible, is more enviable
than that of a pauper who drops undramatically on
London stones. He came to his lodging at the close
of the third day, wet, tired, hungry, and with a head-
ache. There was nobody to suggest anything to him
or offer him anything. He went to bed, and a thousand
images, uncontrolled, rushed backwards and forwards
before him. He became excited, so that he could not
rest, and after walking about his room till nearly day-
light, turned into bed again. When morning had fairly
arrived he tried to rise, but he was beaten. He lay still
till about eleven, and then the woman who kept the
lodging-house appeared and asked him if he was going
to stay all day where he was. He told her he was very
bad ; but she went away without a word, and he saw
nothing more of her. Towards night he became worse
and finally delirious.

CHAPTER XIV
The School of Adversity : the Sixth FoRjr

THEREOF

When Zacliariah came to himself he was in a large,.
long, whitewashed room, with twenty beds or more in
it. A woman in a greyish check dress was standing
near him.

" Where am I ? " he said.

" Where are yer ? " she said ; " why, in the workus-
infirmary, to be sure, with me a-looking after yer.
Where would 5'er be ? "

Zachariah relapsed and was still. The next time he
opened his eyes the woman had left him. It was true
he was in the workhouse, and a workhouse then was
not what it is now. Wlio can possibly describe what
it was ? Who can possibly convey to anybody who
has not known what it was by actual imprisonment in
it any adequate sense of its gloom ; of the utter, callous,
brutal indifference of the so-called nurses ; of the
neglect of the poor patients by those who were paid
to attend to them ; of the absence of even common
decency ; of the desperate persistent attempts made
by everybody concerned to impress upon the wretched
mortals who were brought there that they were charge-
able to the parish and put there for form's sake, prior
to being shovelled into a hole in the adjoining church-
yard ? The infirmary nurses were taken from the
other side of the building — sometimes for very strange
reasons. The master appointed them, and was not

1:4

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 135

bound to account to anybody for his preferences. One
woman had given him much trouble. She was a stout,
lazy brute, who had no business in the House, and who
went in and out just as she hked. One day something
displeased her, and she attacked him with sucli fury and
suddenness that he would have been a dead man in a
few minutes if she had not been pulled off. But he
dared not report her. She knew too much about him,
and she was moved a few days afterwards to look after
the sick. She it was who spoke to Zachariah. She,
however, was not by any means the worst. Worse
than her were the old, degraded, sodden, gin-drinking
hags, who had all their lives breatlied pauper air and
pauper contamination ; women with not one single
vestige of their Maker's hand left upon them, and in-
capable, even under the greatest provocation, of any
human emotion ; who would see a dying mother call
upon Christ, or cry for her husband and children, and
would swear at her and try to smother her into silence.
As for the doctor, he was hired at the lowest p)Ossible
rate, and was allowed a certain sum for drugs. Jt was
utterly insufficient to provide anything except the very
commonest physic ; and what could he do in the midst
of such a system, even if he had been inclined to do any-
thing ? He accordingly did next to nothing ; walked
through the wards, and left his patients pretty much to
Providence. They were robbed even of their food.
They were not much to b3 pitied for being robbed of
the stimulants, for every drop, including the " port
wine," was obtained by the directors from those of
their number or from their friends who were in the
trade, and it was mostly poisonous. Death is always
terrible — terrible on the battlefield ; terrible in a sink-
ing ship ; terrible to the exile — but the present writer,
who has seen Death in the " House " of years gone by,
cannot imagine that he can ever be so distinctively the
King of Terrors as he was there. The thought that
thousands and thousands of human beings, some of
them tender-hearted, have had to face him there is
more horrifying than the thought of French soldiers

136 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNEK'S LANE

freezing in their blood on the Borodino, or of Inquisi-
tional tortures. It is one of those thoughts which
ought not to be thought — a thought to be suppressed.
for it leads to atheism, or even something worse than
mere denial of a God. Thank Heaven that the present
generation of the poor has been relieved at least of
one argument in favour of the creed that the world is
governed bj^ the Devil ! Thank Heaven that the modern
hospital, with its sisters gently nurtured, devoted to
their duty with that pious earnestness which is a true
rehgion, has supplied some evidence of a Theocracy.

Zachariah looked round again. There was an old
male attendant near him. He had on a brown rough
coat with brass buttons, and shoes which were much
too big for him. They were supplied in sizes, and never
fitted. The old men always took those that were too
large. They had as their place of exercise a paved
courtyard surrounded by high brick walls, and they all
collected on the sunny side, and walked up and down
there, making a clapping noise with their feet as the
shoes slipped off their heels. This sound was character-
istic of the whole building. It was to be heard every-
where.

" You've been very bad," said the old man, " but
you'll get better now ; it a'nt many as get better here."
He was a poor-looking, half-fed creature, with a
cadaverous face. He had the special, workhouse, blood-
less aspect— just as if he had lived on nothing stronger
than gruel and had never smelt fresh air. The air, by
the way, of those wards was something peculiar. It
had no distinctive odour — that is to say, no odour which
was specially this or that ; but it had one that bore
the same relation to ordinary odours which well-ground
London mud bears to ordinary colours. The old man's
face, too, had nothing distinctive in it. The only thing
certainly predicable of him was, that nothing could be
predicated of him. He was neither selfish nor generous ;
neither a liar nor truthful ; neither believed anything,
nor disbelieved anything ; was neither good nor bad ;
had no hope hereafter, nor any doubt.

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 137

" Who are you ? " said Zachariah.

" Well, that ain't easy to say. I does odd jobs here
as the nurses don't do, and I gets a little extra ration."

" How long have I been here ? "

" About a fortnight."

Zachariah was too weak to say anything more, and
fell asleep again. Next day he was better, and he then
thought of his wife ; he thought of Caillaud, the Major,
and Pauhne ; but he had no power to reflect connectedly.
He was in that miserable condition in which objects
present themselves in a tumbling crowd, one following
the other with inconceivable rapidity, the brain possess-
ing no power to disentangle the chaos. He could not
detach the condition of his wife, for example, and
determine what ought to be done ; he could not even
bring himself to decide if it would be best to let her
know where he was. No sooner did he try to turn his
attention to her, even for a moment, than the Major
came before him, and then his other friends, and then
the workhouse and the dread of death there. Merci-
fully he went to sleep again, and after another long
night's rest he was much stronger. He was able now —
first sign of restored power — to settle that he ought
before everything to communicate with Mrs. Carter, and
he inquired of the old man if he could write.

" Oh, yes, I can write," said he, and something like
a gleam of light passed over his countenance at being
asked to practise an art almost forgotten in those
walls.

A letter was accordingly written to Mrs. Carter, at
her sister's address, telling her briefly what had hap-
pened, but that she was not to be alarmed, as the writer
was rapidly recovering. He was able to sign his name ;
but when the letter was finished, he reflected that he
had not got a coin in his pocket with which to pay the
postage. One of the institutions of the workhouse was,
however, a kind of pawnshop kept by one of the under-
masters, as they were called, and Zachariah got a shilling
advanced on a pocket-knife. The letter, therefore, was
duly despatched, and he gave his secretar\' a penny for

138 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

his trouble. This led to a little further intunacy, and
Zachariah asked him how he came there.

" I don't know," he replied. " I was born in the
country, and when I was fourteen, my father appren-
ticed me to the watchmaking. He was well off — my
father was — and when I was out of my time he set me
up in business in Liverpool. It was a business as had
been established some time — a fairish business it was.
But when I came to Liverpool I felt dull."
" What do you mean by dull ? Stupid ? "
" No, not exactly that. You know what dull means,
don't you ? — low-spirited like — got nothing to talk
about. Well, I can't tell how it come about, but I was
always dull, and have been so ever since. I got married
soon after I was settled. My wife was a good sort of
woman, but she wasn't cheerful, and she wasn't very
strong. Somehow the business fell off. Customers as
used to come didn't come, and I got no new ones. I
did my work pretty well ; but still, for all that, things
went down and down by degrees. I never could make
out why, except that people liked to be talked to, and
I had nothing particular to say to any of them when
they came in. The shop, too, ought to have been
painted more often, and I ought to have had something
in the window, but, as I say, I was always dull, and
my wife wasn't strong. At last I was obliged to give
up and go to journey-work ; but when I got old I
couldn't see, and was put in here."

But," said Zachariah, " is that all ? Why, you are
nearly seventy years old. You must have something
more to tell me."

" No. I don't know as I have ; that seems about
all."

But what became of your father ? He was well off.
What became of his money when he died ? "

I'd had my share."
" Had you no brothers nor sisters to help you ? "

Yes, I had some."

I^id they let you come here ? "
" Why, you see, as I've told you before, I was dull.

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 139

and my wife wasn't strong. They never came much
to see me. It was my fault ; I never had nothing to
say to them."

" Had you no children ? "

" Yes, I had a son and daughter."

" Are they alive now ? "

" Yes — both- of them ; at least I haven't heard as
they are dead."

" And able to keep themselves ? "

" They used to be."

" And do you mean that your son and daughter let
you go to the workhouse ? "

The old man was a little disturbed, and for a moment
some slight sign of nervous excitement revealed itself iu
his lustreless eyes.

" I haven't see anything of 'em for year^."

" Did you quarrel ? "

" No, we didn't quarrel ; but they left off visiting
us. They both of them married, and went out a good
bit, and were gayer than we were. We used to ask
them, and then they'd look in sometimes : but never
except when they were asked, and always seemed to
wish to get away. We never had nothing to show
anybody, nor nothing to give anybody ; for we didn't
drink, and I never smoked. They went away too, both
■of them, from Liverpool, somewhere towards London.

" But when vou broke down didn't you inform them ? "

" No. I hadn't heard anything of them for so long.
I thought I might as well get into the House. It will
do very well."

" Didn't you know anybody belonging to your church
or chapel ? "

" Well, we went to church ; but when the business
dropped we left off going, for nothing much seemed
to come of it, and nobody ever spoke to us."

" Wouldn't you like to get out of this place ?

■" No — I don't know as I should now ; I shouldn't
know what to do, and it won't last long."

" How old are you ? "

" Sixty-five."

140 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

It puzzled Zachariah that the man's story of his life
w?.i so short — all told in five minutes.

" But did you never have any adventures ? Did you
never hear about anything, or see anybody worth re-
niembcring ? Tell me all about yourself. We've got
nothing to do."

" I don't recollect anything particular after I came
to Liverpool. Things seemed to go on pretty much in
the same way."

" But you got married, and your wife died ? "

" Yes — I got married, and she died."

" What was your wife's name ?

" Her name was Jenkins ; she was the daughter of
the saddler that lived next door."

" Couldn't her friends have helped you ? "

" After she died they had nothing more to do with
me."

" And you really cannot tell me any moi"e ? "

" No — how can I ? What more is there to tell ?
It's all alike."

The old pauper was called away, and went shuffling
along to the door, leaving Zachariah to his meditations.

Another day passed, and he was lying half asleep
when a visitor was announced, and close upon the
announcement stood before him— who should it be ? —
no other than Mrs. Carter, out of breath, radiant, healthy,
imp.)tuous.

God bless the poor dear man ! " she burst out ;
" to think of finding you here, and not to have told us
before. But I suppose you couldn't. Directly as I
got your letter off I came, and here I am, you see."

Her presence was like the south-west wind and sunlight
after long north-easterly gloom and frost. Astonishing
is that happy power which some people possess which
enables them at once to dispel depression and even
disease. A woman like Mrs. Carter comes into a house
where there is misery and darkness ; where the sufferer
is possessed by demons ; unnameable apprehensions,
which thicken his blood and make him cry for death,
and they retreat precipitately, as their brethren were

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 141

fabled to retreat at the sign of the cross. No man who
is so blessed as to have a friend with that magnetic
force in him need disbelieve in much of what is recorded
as miraculous. Zachariah felt as if a draught of good
wine had been poured down his throat. But he instantly
asked :

" How is my wife ? "

" She is all right ; but you mustn't bother about her.
You must come out at once. You mustn't go back
to Manchester just yet — not as they'd care much about
you now ; Nadin's got plenty of work to do, and wouldn't
concern himself about you — but you aren't well enough
and are better away. Now, look here — I'll tell you
what I've been and done. I've got a cousin living here
in Liverpool, as good a soul as ever lived. I goes to
her and tells her you must stay there."

" But how can I ? Just think of the trouble and
expense. I don't know her."

" Lord a mercy, there you are again — trouble and
expense ! \Miat trouble will you be ? And as for
expense, one would think you'd been living like a Lord
Mayor to hear you talk. What are we made for if
not to help one another ?

" I can't walk ; and shouldn't I be obliged to get
the doctor's permission ?

" Walk ! Of course you can't. And what did my
husband say to me before I started ? Says he, * You'll
have to get a conveyance to take him.' ' Leave me
alone for that,' says I ; ' although right you are.' And
I says to my cousin's husband, who drives a hackney
coach, ' Just you drop down and carry him home. It
won't be ten minutes out of your time.' So he'll be
here in about a quarter of an hour. As for the doctor. I
understand as much about you as he does, and, doctor
or no doctor, you won't sleep in this bed to-night. I'll
go and tell the head nurse or master, or somebody or
the other, that you arc off. You just put on your
clothes."

In a short time she returned, found Zachariah dressed,
wrapped him round in shawls and rugs, helped him down-

142 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

Btairs, put him into the coach, and brought him to her
cousin's. It was a httle house, in a long uniform street ;
but a good deal of pains had been taken with it to make
it something special. There were two bedroom windows
in front, on the upper storey, and each one had flowers
outside. The flower-pots were prevented from falling
off the ledge by a lattice-work wrought in the centre
into a little gate — an actual little gate. What purpose
it was intended to answer is a mystery ; but being there
the owner of the flower-pots imfastened it every morning
when the sill was dusted, and removed them through it,
although lifting them would have been a much simpler
operation. There were flowers in the sitting-room
downstairs too ; but they were inside, as the window
was flush with the pavement. This sitting-room was
never used except on Sundays. It was about nine feet
square, and it had in it a cupboard on either side of the
fireplace, a black horse-hair sofa alongside the wall
on the right-hand side of the door, red curtains, a black
horse-hair arm-chair, three other chairs to match, a
little round table, two large shells, a framed sampler on
the wall representing first the letters of the alphabet,
then the figures i, 2, 3, &c., and, finally, a very blue
Jesus talking to a very red woman of Samaria on a very
yellow well — underneath, the inscription and date,
''' Margaret Curtin, loth March 1785." The only other
decorations — for pictures were dear in those days —
were two silhouettes, male and female, one at each
corner of the mantelpiece, and two earthenware dogs
which sat eternally looking at one another on the top
of one of the cupboards. On the cupboard farthest
away from the window was a large Bible with pictures
in it and notes, and, strange to say, a copy of Ferguson's
Astronomy and a handsome quarto edition in three
volumes of Cook's First Voyage. Everything was as
neat and clean as it could possibly be ; but Mr. and Mrs.
Hocking had no children, and had saved a little money.
Into this apartment Zachariah was brought. There
wa.s a fire burning, though it was not cold, and on the
table, covered with a perfectly white cloth, stood a

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 143

basin of broth, with some toast, a little brandy in a
wine-glass, a jug of water, and a tumbler. The books,
including the Bible, had apparently not been read much,
and were probably an heirloom. As Zachariah began
to recover strength he read the Ferguson. It was
the first time he had ever thought seriously of Astronomy,
and it opened a new world to him. His religion had
centred all his thoughts upon the earth as the theatre
of the history of the universe, and although he knew
theoretically that it was but a subordinate planet, he
had not realised that it was so. For him, practically,
this little globe had been the principal object of the
Creator's attention. Ferguson told him also, to his
amazement, that the earth moved in a resisting medium,
and that one day it would surely fall into the sun. That
day would be the end of the world, and of everything
in it. He learned something about the magnitude
of the planets and the distances of the fixed stars, and
noted that his author, pious as he is, cannot admit that
planets or stars were created for the sake of man. He
dwelt upon these facts, more especially upon the first
till the ground seemed to disappear under his feet, and
he fell into that strange condition in which people in
earthquake countries are said to be when their houses
begin to tremble. We may laugh, and call him a fool
to be disturbed by a forecast of what is not going to
happen for millions of years ; but he was not a fool.
He was one of those unhappy creatures whom an idea
has power to shake, and almost to overmaster. Fer-
guson was a Christian, and the thought of the destruction
of our present dwelling-place, with every particle of
life on it, did not trouble him. He had his refuge in
Revelation. Zachariah too was a Christian, but the
muscles of his Christianity were — now at any rate,
whatever they may once have been — not fnm enough
to strangle this new terror. His supernatural heaven
had receded into shadow ; he was giddy, and did not
know where he was. He did not feel to their full extent
the tremendous consequences of this new doctrine, and
the shock which it has given to so much philosophy

144 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

and so many theories, but he felt quite enough, and
wished he had never opened the volume. There arc
many truths, no doubt, which we are not robust enough
to bear. In the main it is correct that the only way
to conquer is boldly to face every fact, however horrible
it may seem to be, and think, and think, till we pass
it and come to a higher fact ; but often we are too weak,
and perish in the attempt. As we lie prostrate, we curse
the day on which our .eyes were opened; and we cry in
despair that it would have been better for us to have
been born oxen or swine than men. It is an experience,
I suppose, not new that in certain diseased conditions
some single fear may fasten on the wretched victim
so that he is almost beside himself. He is unaware
that this fear in itself is of no importance, for it is nothing
but an index of ill- health, which might find expression
in a hundred other ways. He is unconscious of the
ill-health except through his fancy, and regards it as
an intellectual result. It is an affliction worse ten
thousand times than any direct physical pain which
ends in pain. Zachariah could not but admit that he
was still physically weak ; he had every reason, there-
fore, for supposing that his mental agony was connected
with his sickness, but he could not bring himself to
believe that it was so, and he wrestled with his night-
mares and argued with them as though they were mere
logical inferences. However, he began to get better,
and forthwith other matters occupied his mind. His
difficulty was not fairly slain, pierced through the midst
by some heaven-directed arrow, but it was evaded and
forgotten. Health, sweet blood, unimpeded action of
the heart, are the divine narcotics which put to sleep
these enemies to our peace and enable us to pass happily
through life. Without these blessings a man need not
stir tliree steps without finding a foe able to give him
his death-stroke.

Zachariah longed to see his wife again ; but he could
not bring her to Liverpool until he had some work to
do. At last the day came when he was able to say
that he was once more earning his living, and one evening

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 14-,

when he reached home she was there too. Mrs. Carter had
herself brought her to Liverpool, but had gone back again
to Manchester at once, as she could not stay the night.
When he first set eyes on his wife he was astonished
at the change in her. She was whiter, if possible, than
ever, thin in the lace, dark-ringed about the eyes, and
very weak. But otherwise she was what she had always
been. The hair was just as smooth, everything about
her just as spotlessly clean and unruffled, and she sat
as she always did, rather upright and straight, as if she
preferred the discomfort of a somewhat rigid position
to the greater discomfort of disarranging her gown.
Zachariah had much to say. During the whole of the
four hours before bedtime he did not once feel that
drying-up of conversation which used to be so painful
to him. It is true she herself said little or nothing, but
that was of no moment. She was strengthless, and
he did not expect her to talk. So long as he could speak
he was happy. The next morning came, and with it
came Hope, as it usually came to him in the morning,
and he kissed her with passionate fervour as he went
out, rejoicing to think that, although she was so feeble,
she was recovering ; that he could once more look
forward as in earlier days, to the evening, and forgetting
every cloud which had ever come between them. Alas,
when the night of that very day came he found his little
store exhausted, and he and the companion of his life
sat together for a quarter of an hour or more without
speaking a word. He proposed reading a book, and took
up the Ferguson, thinking he could extract from it
something which might interest her ; but she was so
irresponsive, and evidently cared so little for it, that he
ceased. It was but eight o'clock, and how to fill up
the time he did not know. At last he said he would just
take a turn outside and look at the weather. He went
out and stood under the stars of which he had been
reading. The meeting, after such a scpaiation, was
scarcely twenty-four hours old, and yet he felt once
more the old weariness and the old inability to profit
by her society or care for it. He v.ished, or half wished.

146 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

that there might have existed such diflferences between
them that they could have totally disregarded or even
hated one another. The futility, however, of any raving
was soon perfectly clear to him. He might as well have
strained at a chain which held him fast by the leg, and
he therefore strove to quiet himself. He came back,
after being absent longer than he intended and found
she was upstairs. He sat down and meditated again,
but came to no conclusion, for no conclusion was possible.

The next evening, after they had sat dumb for some
moments, he said, " My dear, you don't seem well."

'■ I am not well, as you know. You yourself don't
seem well."

He felt suddenly as if he would have liked to throw
himself on his knees before her, and to have it all out
with her ; to say to her all he had said to himself ; to
expose all his misery to her ; to try to find out whether
she still loved him ; to break or thaw the shell of ice
which seemed to have frozen round her. But he could
not do it. He was on the point of doing it, when he
looked at her face, and there was something in it which
stopped him. No such confidence was possible, and
he went back into himself again.

" Shall I read to you ? "

" Yes, if you like."

" What shall I read ? "

" I don't care ; anything you please."

" Shall it be Cook's Voyages ? "
I have just said I really do not care."

He took down the Cook's Voyages ; but after about
ten minutes he could not go on and he put it back in its
place.

Caillaud's trial is to take place next week," he
observed after a long pause.

" Horrible man ! " she exclaimed, with a sudden
increase of energy. " I understand that it was in
defending him Major Maitland lost his life."

" My dear, you are quite wrong. He was defending
Major Maitland, and shot the soldier who killed him."

" Quite wrong, am I ? Of course I am quite wrong ! "

THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY 147

*' I was at headquarters, you remember."

" Yes, you were ; but you were not near Major
Ivlaitland."

Zachariah raised his eyes ; he thought he detected,
he was sure he detected, in the tone of this sentence a
distinct sneer.

" I was not with Major Maitland ; my duties called
me elsewhere ; but I am more likely to know what
iiappened than any gossiping outsider."

" I don't believe in your foreign infidels."

" My foreign infidels ! You have no right to call
Ihem my infidels, if you mean that, I am one. But let
me tell you again you are mistaken. Besides, supposing
you are right, I don't see why he should be a horrible
man. He will probably be executed for what he did."

" It was he and that daughter of his who dragged you
and the Major into all this trouble."

" On the contrary, Caillavid, as well as myself and
the Major, did all we could to prevent the march. You
must admit I understand what I am talking about. I
was at every meeting."

" As usual, nothing I say is right. It was to be
expected that you would take the part of the Caillauds."

Zachariah did not reply. It was supper-time ; the
•chapter from the Bible was duly read, the prayer duly
prayed, and husband and wife afterwards once more,
each in turn, silently at the bedside, with more or less
of sincerity or pathos, sought Him who was the Maker of
both. It struck Zachariah during his devotions — a
rather unwelcome interruption^that his wife as well as
liirasclf was in close communication with the Almighty.

CHAPTER XV

End of the Beginning

The trial took place at Lancaster. Zachariah was
sorely tempted to go ; but, in the first place, he had
no money, and, in the second place, he feared arrest.
Not that he would have cared two pins if he had been
put into jail ; but he could not abandon his wife. He*
was perfectly certain what the result would be, but
nevertheless, on the day when the news was due, he
could not rest. There was a mail coach which ran from
Lancaster to Liverpool, starting from Lancaster in the
afternoon and reaching Liverpool between eleven and
twelve at night. He went out about that time and
loitered about the coach-office as if he were waiting for
a friend. Presently he heard the wheels and the rapid
trot of the horses. His heart failed him, and he could
almost have fainted.

" What's the news ? " said the clerk to the coachman.

" All the whole d — d lot convicted, and one of 'era
going to be hung."

" One of them hung ! Which one is that ? "

" Why, him as killed the soldier, of course — the
Frenchman."

" A d — d good job too," replied the clerk. " I

should hke to serve every Frenchman in the

country the same way."

Zachariah could not listen any longer, but went home,
and all night long a continuous series of fearful images
passed before his eyes — condemned cells, ropes, gallows

148

END OF THE BEGINNING 149

and the actual fall of the victim, down to the contortion
of his muscles. He made up his mind on the following
day tliat he would see Caillaud before he died, and he
told his wife he was going. She was silent for a moment,
and then she said :

" You will do as you like, I suppose ; but I cannot
sec what is the use of it. You can do no good ; you
will lose your place here ; it will cost you something ;
and when you get there you may have to stop there."

Zachariah could not restrain hmiself.

" Good God ! " he cried, " you hear that one of my
best friends is about to be hung, and you sit there like a
statue — not a single word of sympathy or horror — you
care no more than a stone. Use of going ! I tell you I
will go if I starve, or have to rot in jail all my lifetime.
Furthermore, I will go this instant."

He went out of the room in a rage, rammed a few
things into a bag, and was out of the house in ten
minutes. He was excusably unjust to his \vife —
excusably, because he could not help thinking that she
was hard, and even cruel. Yet really she was not so,
or if she was, she was not necessarily so, for injustice,
not only to others, but to ourselves, is always begotten
by a false relationship. There were multitudes of men
in the world, worse than Zachariah, with whom she
would have been, not only happier, but better. He.
poor man, with all his \-irtues, stimulated and developed
all that was disagreeable in her.

He was in no mood to rest, and walked on all that
night. Amidst all his troubles he could not help being
struck with the solemn, silent procession overhead. It
was perfectly clear — so clear that the heavens were not
a surface, biit a depth, and the stars of a lesser magni-
tude were so numerous and brilliant that Ihoy obscured
the forms of the greater constellations. Presently the
first hint of day appeared in the east. We must
remember that this was the year 181 7, before, so it is
commonly supposed, men knew what it was properly to
admire a cloud or a rock. Zachariah was not, therefore,
on a level with the most ordinary subscriber to a modern

T50 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

circulating library. Nevertheless he could not help
noticing — we will say he did no more — the wonderful,
the sacredly beautiful, drama which noiselessly displayed
itself before him. Over in the east the intense deep
blue of the sky softened a little. Then the trees in that
quarter began to contrast themselves against the back-
ground and reveal their distinguishing shapes. Swiftly,
and yet with such even velocity that in no one minute
did there seem to be any progress compared with the
minute preceding, the darkness was thinned, and resolved
itself overhead into pure saphire, shaded into yellow
below and in front of him, while in the west it was still
almost black. The grassy floor of the meadows now
showed its colour, grey green, with the dew lying on it,
and in the ghmmer under the hedge might be discerned
a hare or two stirring. Star by star disappeared, until
none were left, save Venus, shinging hke a lamp till the
very moment almost when the sun's disc touched the
horizon. Half a dozen larks mounted and poured forth
that ecstasy which no bird but the lark can translate.
More amazing than the loveliness of scene, sound, and
scent arround him was the sense of irrestisible movement.
He stopped to watch it, for it grew so rapid that he
could almost detect definite pulsations. Throb followed
throb every second with increasing force, and in a
moment more a burning speck of gold was visible, and
behold it was day ! He slowly turned his eyes away and
walked onwards.

Lancaster was reached on the second evening after
he left Liverpool. He could not travel fast nor long
together, for he \vas not yet completely strong. He
secured a bed in a low part of the town, at a public-
house, and on the morning of the third day presented
himself at the prison door. After some formalities he
was admitted, and taken by a warder along a corridor
with whitewashed walls to the condemned cell where
Caillaud lay. The warder looked through a grating,
and said to Zachariah that a visitor was already there.
Two were not allowed at a time, but he would tell the
prisoner that somebody was waiting for him.

END OF THE BEGINNING 151

" Let's see, what's your name ? " said the warder.

Then it suddenly struck him that he had been fool
enough, in the excitement of entering the prison, to
sign his real name in the book. There was no help for
it now, and he repeated that it was Coleman.

" Ah yes, Coleman," echoed the man, in a manner
which was significant.

" Who is the other visitor ? " said Zachariah.

" It is his daughter."

His first thought was to ask to be let in, but his next
was, that it would be profanity to disturb the intercourse
of father and child, and he was silent. However, he had
been announced, and Caillaud appeared at the grating
begging permission for his friend to enter. It was at
lirst refused ; but presently something seemed to strike
the jailer, for he relented with a smile.

" You won't want to come again ? " he observed
interrogatively.

" No ; that is to say, I think not."

" No ; that is to say, I think not," he repeated
slowly, word for word, adding, " I shall have to stay
with you while you are together."

Zachariah entered, the warder locking the door
behind him, and seating himself on the edge of the
bedstead, where he remained during the whole of the
interview, jingling his keys and perfectly unmoved.

The three friends spoke not a word for nearly five
minutes. Zachariah was never suddenly equal to any
occasion which made any great demands upon him. It
often made him miserable that it was so. Here he was,
in the presence of one whom he had so much loved,
and who was about to leave him for ever, and he had
nothing to say. That could have been endured could
he but have jelt and showed his feeling, could he but
have cast himself upon his neck and wept over him, but
he was numbed and apparently immovable. It was
Caillaud who first broke the silence.

" It appears I shall have to console you rather than
you me ; believe me, I care no m.ore about dying, as
mere dying, than I do about walking across this room.

152 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

There are two things which disturb me- — the apprehen-
sion of some pain, and bidding good-bye to Pauhne
and you, and two or three more."

There was, after all, but just a touch needed to break
up Zachariah and melt him.

" You are happier than I," he cried. " Your work
is at an end. No more care for things done or undone ;
you are discharged, and nobly discharged, with honour.
But as for me ! "

" With honour ! " and Caillaud smiled. " To be
hung like a forger of bank-notes— not even to be shot —
and then to be forgotten. Forgotten utterly ! This
does not happen to be one of those revolutions which
men remember."

" No ! men will not remember," said Pauline, with an
elevation of voice and manner almost oratorical. " Men
will not remember, but there is a memory in the world
which forgets nothing."

" Do you know," said Caillaud, " I have always loved
adventure, and at times I look forward to death with
curiosity and interest, just as if I were going to a foreign
country."

" Tell me," said Zachariah, " if there is anything I
can do."

" Nothing. I would ask you to see that Pauline
comes to no harm, but she can take care of herself. I
have nothing to give you in parting. They have taken
everything from me."

" \Vhat a brute I am ! I shall never see you again,
and I cannot speak," sobbed Zachariah.

" Speak ! What need is there of speaking ? What
is there which can be said at such a time ? To tell you
the truth, Coleman, I hardly cared about having you
here. I did not want to imperil the calm which is now
happily upon me ; we all of us have something un-
accountable and uncontrollable in us, and I do not
know how soon it may wake in me. But I did wish to
see you, in order that your mind might be at peace
about me. Come, good-bye ! "

Caillaud put his hand on Zachariah's shoulder.

END OF THE BEGINNING 153

" This will not do," he said. " For my sake forbear.
I can face what I have to go through next Monday if
I am not shaken. Come, Pauline, you too, my child,
must leave me for a bit."

Zachariah looked at Pauline, who rose and threw her
shawl over her shoulders. Her lips were tightly shut,
but she was herself. The warder opened the door.
Zachariah took his friend's hand, held it for a moment,
and then threw his arms round his neck. There is a
pathos in parting which the mere loss through absence
does not explain. We all of us feel it, even if there is to
be a meeting again in a few months, and we are over-
come by incomprehensible emotion when we turn back
down the pier, unable any longer to discern the waving
of the handkerchief, or when the railway train turns
the curve in the cutting and leaves us standing on the
platform. Infinitely pathetic, therefore, is the moment
when we separate for ever.

Caillaud was unsettled for an instant, and then, slowly
untwining the embrace, he made a sign to Pauline, who
took Zachariah's hand and led him outside ; the heavy
well-oiled bolt of the lock shooting back under the key
with a smooth strong thud between them. She walked
down the corridor alone, not noticing that he had not
followed her, and had just passed out of sight when an
officer stepped up to him and said !

" Your name is Coleman ?

" Yes."

" Sorry to hear it. My name is Nadin. You know
me, I think. You must consider yourself my prisoner."

Zachariah was in prison for two years. He had not
been there three months when his wife died.

Let us now look forweird to 1821 ; let us walk down
one of the new streets just beginning to stretch north-
wards from Pentonville ; let us stop opposite a httle
house, with a little palisade in front, enclosing a little
garden five and twenty feet long and fifteen feet broad ;

154 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

let us peep through the chink between the bUnd and the
window. We see Zachariah andPauhne. Another year
passes ; we peep through the same chink again. A
cradle is there, in which lies Marie Pauline Coleman ;
but where is the mother ? She is not there, and the
father alone sits watching the child.

CHAPTER XVI

COWFOLD

CowFOLD, half village, half town, lies about three miles
to the west of the great North Road from London tO'
York. As you go from London, about fifty miles from
the Post-Office in St. Martin's le Grand — the fiftieth
milestone is just beyond the turning — you will see a hand-
post with three arms on it ; on one is written in large
letters, " To London ; " on the second, in equally large
letters, " To York ; " and on the third, in small italic
letters, " To Cowjold." Two or three years before the
events narrated in the following chapters took place
— that is to say, about twenty years after the death
of Zachariah's second wife — a hundred coaches a day
rolled past that hand-post, and about two miles beyond
it was a huge inn, with stables like cavalry barracks,
where horses were changed. No coach went through
Cowfold. When the inhabitants wished to go north-
wards or southwards they walked or drove to the junc-
tion, and waited on the little grassy triangle till a coach
came by which had room for them. When they returned
they were deposited at the same spot, and the passengers
who were going through from London to York or
Scotland, or who were coming up to London, always
seemed to despise people who were taken up or who
were left by the roadside there.

There was, perhaps, some reason for this contempt.
The North Road was at that time one of the finest roads
in the world, broad, hard-metalled, and sound in the

155

156 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

wettest weather. That which led to Cowfold was
under the control of the parish, and in winter-time was
very bad indeed. When you looked down it it seemed
as if it led nowhere, and indeed the inhabitants of the
town were completely shut off from anj^ close communi-
cation with the outer world. How strange it was to
emerge from the end of the lane and to see those wonder-
ful words, " To London," " To York ! " What an
opening into infinity ! Boys of a slightly imaginative
turn of mind — for there were boys with imagination
even in Cowfold — would, on a holiday trudge the three
miles eastward merely to get to the post and enjoy the
romance of those mysterious fingers. No wonder ;
for the excitement begotten by the long stretch of the
road — London at one end, York at the other — by the
sight of the Star, Rover, Eclipse, or Times racing along
at twelve miles an hour, and by the inscriptions on
them, was worth a whole afternoon's cricket or wandering
in the fields. Cowfold itself supplied no such stimulus.
The only thing like it was the mail-cart, which every
evening took the letters from the post-ofhce, disappeared
into the dark, nobody could tell whither, and brought
letters in the morning, nobody could tell whence,
before the inhabitants were out of bed. There was a
vague behef that it went about fifteen miles and
" caught " something somewhere ; but nobody knew
for certain, except the postmistress and the mail-cart
driver, who were always remarkably reticent on the
point. The driver was dressed in red, carried a long
horn slung at the side of the cart, and was popularly
believed also to have pistols with him. He never
accosted anybody ; sat on a soHtary perch just big
enough for him ; swayed always backwards and forwards
a little in a melancholy fashion as he rode ; was never
seen during the day-time, and was not, in any proper
sense, a Cowfold person.

Cowfold had four streets, or, more correctly, only
two, which crossed one another at right angles in the
middle of the town, and formed there a kind of square or
open place, in which, on Saturdays, a market was held.

COWFOLD 157

The " Angel " was in this square, and the shops grouped
themselves round it. In the centre was a large pump
with a great leaden spout that had a hole bored in it
at the side. By stopping up the mouth of the spout
with the hand it was possible through this hole to get a
good drink, if a friend was willing to work the handle ;
and as the square was a public playground, the pump
did good service, especially amongst the boys, all of
whom preferred it greatly to a commonplace mug.
On Sundays it was invariably chained up ; for although
it was no breach of the Sabbath to use the pump in
the backyard, the line was drawn there, and it would
have been voted by nine-tenths of Cowfold as decidedly
immoral to get water from the one outside. The shops
were a draper's, a grocer's, an ironmonger's, a butcher's
and a baker's. All these were regular shops, with
shop-windows, and were within sight of one another.
There were also other houses where things were sold ;
but these were mere dwelling-houses, and were at the
poorer and more remote ends of Cowfold. None of
the regular shops aforesaid were strictly what they
professed to be. Each of them diverged towards " the
general." The draper sold boots and shoes ; the grocer
sold drugs, stationery, horse and cow medicines, and
sheep ointment ; and the ironmonger dealt in crockery.
Even the butcher was more than a butcher, for he was
never to be seen at his chopping block, and his wife did
all the retail work. He himself was in the " jobbing "
line, and was always jogging about in a cart, in the hind
part of which, covered with a net, was a calf or a couple
of pigs. Three out of the four streets ran out in cottages ;
but one was more aristocratic. This was Church Street,
which contained the church and the parsonage. It
also had in it four red brick houses, each surrounded
with large gardens. In one lived a brewer who had a
brewery in Cowfold, and owned a dozen beer-shops in
the neighbourhood ; another was a seminary for young
ladies ; in the third lived the doctor ; and in the fourth
old Mr. and Mrs. Muston, who had no children, had
been there for fifty years ; and this, so far as Cowfold

158 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

■was aware, was all their history. Mr. and Mrs. Muston
and the seminary were the main strength of the church.
To be sure the doctor and the landlord of the " Angel "
professed devotion to the Establishment, but they were
never inside the church, except just now and then,
and were charitably excused because of their peculiar
•calling. The rest of Cowfold was Dissenting or " went
nowhere." There were three chapels ; one the chapel,
orthodox, Independent, holding about seven hundred
persons, and more particularly to be described presently ;
the second Wesle^^an, new, stuccoed, with grained doors
and cast-iron railing ; the third, strict Baptist, ultra-
Calvinistic, Antinomian according to the other sects,
■dark, down an alley, mean, surrounded by a small long-
grassed graveyard, and named Zoar in large letters
over the long window in front. The " went nowhere "
class was apparently not very considerable. On Sunday
morning at twelve o'clock Cowfold looked as if it had
been swept clean. It was only by comparison between
the total number of church-goers and chapel-goers and
the total population that it could be believed that there
■was anybody absent from the means of grace ; but if
a view could have been taken of the back premises an
explanation would have been discovered. Men and
women " did up their gardens," or found, for a variety
of reasons, that they were forced to stay at home. In
the evening they grew bolder, and strolled through the
meadows. It is, however, only f^ir to respectable
Cowfold to say that it knew nothing of these creatures,
except by employing them on week-days

"With regard to the Wesleyan Chapel, nothing much
need be said. Its creed was imported, and it had no
roots in the town. The Church disliked it because it
was Dissenting, and the Dissenters disliked it because it
was half-Church, and, above all, Tory. It was sup-
ported mainly by the brewer, who was drawn thither
for many reasons, one of which was political. Another
was, that he was not in trade, and although he objected
to be confounded with his neighbours who stood behind
counters, the Church did not altogether suit him, because

COWFOLD 159

there Mr. and Mrs. Muston and the seminary stood in
his way. Lastly, as he owned beer-shops, suppHed
liquor which was a proverb throughout the county, and
did a somewhat doubtful business according to the
more pious of the Cowford Christians, he preferred to
be accredited as a religious person by Methodism than
by any other sect, the stamp of Methodism standing
out in somewhat higher relief.

As for Zoar, it was a place apart. Its minister was a
big, large-jawed, heavy-eyed man, who lived in a little
cottage hard by. His wife was a very plain-looking
person, who wore even on Sundays a cotton gown without
any ornament, and who took her husband's arm as they
walked down the lane to the chapel. The Independent
minister, the Wesleyan minister, and, of course, the
rector had nothing to do with the minister of Zoar. This
was not because of any heresy or difference of doctrine,
but because he was a poor man and poor persons sat
under him. Nevertheless he was not in any way a
characteristic Calvinist. The Calvinistic creed was
stuck in him as in a lump of fat, and had no organising
influence upon him whatever. He had no weight in
Cowiold, took part in none of its affairs, and his ministra-
tions were confined to about fifty sullen, half stupid,
wholly ignorant people who found in the Zoar services
something sleepier and requiring less mental exertion
than they needed elsewhere ; although it must be said
that the demands made upon the intellect in none of the
places of worship were very extensive. There was a
small endowment attached to Zoar, and on this, with
the garden and house rent free, the minister lived. Once
now and then — perhaps once in every three or four
years— there was a baptism in Zoar, and at such times
it was crowded. The children of the congregation, as a
rule fell away from it as they grew up ; but occasionally a
girl remained faithful and was formally admitted to its
communion. In front of the pulpit was an open space
usually covered ; but tlie boards could be taken up, and
then a large kind of tank was disclosed, which was filled
with water when the ceremony was performed. Alter

i6o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

hymns had been sung the minister went down into the
water, and the candidate appeared dressed in a long
white robe very much hke a night-gown. The dear
sister, during a short address, stood on the brink of the
tank for a few moments, and then descended into it
beside the minister, who, taking her by the neck and
round the waist, ducked her fairly and completely.
She emerged, and walked dripping into the vestry,
where it was always said that hot brandy and water was
ready.

Many of us have felt that we would give all our books
if we could but see with our own eyes how a single day
was passed by a single ancient Jewish, Greek, or Roman
family ; how the house was opened in the morning
how the meals were prepared ; what was said ; how the
husband, wife, and children went about their work ;
what clothes they wore, and what were their amusements.
Would that the present historian could do as much for
Cowfold ! Would that he could bring back one blue
summer morning, one afternoon and evening, and
reproduce exactly what happened in Cowfold Square, in
one of the Cowfold shops, in one of the Cowfold parlours,
and in one Cowfold brain and heart. Could this be
done with strictest accuracy, a book would be written,
although Cowfold was not Athens, Rome, nor Jerusalem,
which would live for many many years longer than
much of the literature of this century. But alas ! the
preliminary image in the mmd of the writer is faint
enough, and when he comes to trace it, the pencil swerves
and goes off into something utterly unlike it. An
attempt, however, to show what the waking hours in
Cowfold Square were like may not be out of place. The
shopkeeper came into his shop at half-past seven, about
half an hour after the shutters had been taken down
by his apprentice. At eight o'clock breakfast was
ready ; but before breakfast there was family worship,
and a chapter was read from the Bible, followed by an
extempore prayer from the head of the household. If
the master happened to be absent, it was not considered
proper that the mistress should pray extempore, and she

COWFOLD i6i

used a book of " Family Devotions." A very solid
breakfast followed, and business began. It was very
slow, but it was very human — much more so than
business at the present day in the City. Every customer
had something to say beyond his own immediate errand,
and the shop was the place where everything touching
Cowfold interests was abundantly discussed. Cowfold
too, did much trade in the country round it. Most of
the inhabitants kept a gig, and two or three times,
perhaps, in a week a journey somewhere or other was
necessary which was not in the least like a journey in a
railway train. Debts in the villages were collected by
the creditor in person, who called and invited his
debtors to a most substantial dinner at the inn. At
one o'clock Cowfold dined. Between one and two
nobody was to be seen in the streets, and the doors were
either fastened or a bell was put upon them. After
dinner the same duties returned in the shop ; but inside
the house dinner was the turning-point of the day.
When the " things were washed up," servant and
mistress began to smarten themselves, and disappearing
into their bedrooms, emerged at four, to make prepara-
tions for tea, the meal most enjoyed in all Cowfold. If
any spark of wit slept m any Cowfoldian male or female,
it appeared then. No invitations to dinner were ever
heard of ; but tea was the opportunity for hospitality,
especially amongst women. The minister, when he
visited, invariably came to tea. The news circulated
at tea, and, in fact, at tea between five and six, Cowfold,
if its intellect could have been measured by a properly
constructed gauge, would have been found many degrees
higher in the scale than at any other hour. Granted
that the conversation was personal, trivial, and even
scandalous, it was in a measure philosophical. Cowfold,
though it knew nothing, or next to nothing, of abstractions,
took immense interest in the creatures in which they
were embodied. It would have turned a deaf ear to
any debate on the nature of ethical obligation ; but it
was very keen indeed in apportioning blame to its
neighbours who had sinned, and in deciding how far

i62 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

they had gone wrong. Cowfold in other words beUeved
that flesh and blood, and not ideas, are the school and
the religion for most of us, and that we learn a language
by the examples rather than by the rules. The young
scholar fresh from his study is impatient at what he
considers the unprofitable gossip about the people
round the corner ; but when he gets older he sees that
often it is much better than his books, and that dis-
tinctions are expressed by a washerwoman, if the objects
to be distinguished eat and drink and sleep, which he
would find it difficult to make with his symbols. More-
over, the little Cowfold clubs and parties understood
what they were saying, and so far had an advantage
over the clubs and parties which, since the days of penny
newspapers, now discuss in Cowfold the designs of
Russia, the graduation of the Income Tax, or the merits
and demerits of the administration. The Cowfold
horizon has now been widened, to use the phrase of an
enlightened gentleman who came down and lectured
there on the criminality of the advertisement duty ;
but unfortunately the eyes remain the same. Cowfold
now looks abroad, and is very eloquent upon the fog
in the distance, and the objects it thinks it sees therein ;
but, alas ! what it has gained in inclusive breadth it
has lost in definition. Politics, however, were not
unknown in Cowfold ; for before 1832 it was a borough,
and after 1832 it was one of the principal poUing-places
for the county. Nevertheless it was only on the eve of
an election that anybody dabbled in them, and even then
they were very rudimentary. The science to most of
the voters meant nothing more than a preference of
blue to yellow, or yellow to blue ; and women had
nothing whatever to do with it, excepting that wives
always, of course, took their husbands' colours. Politics,
too, as a rule, were not mentioned in private houses.
They were mostly reserved for the " Angel," and for
the brandies and water and pipes which collected there
in the evening.

To return. After tea the master went back once more
to his counter, and the shutters were put up at eight.

COWFOLD 163

From eight to nine was an hour of which no account
can be given. The Hghts were left burning in the shops,
and the neighbour across the way looked in and remained
talking till his supper was ready. Supper at nine,
generally hot, was an institution never omitted, and,
like tea, was convivial ; but the conviviality was of a
distinctly lower order. Everybody had whisky, gin,
or brandy afterwards, and every male person who was
of age smoked. There was, as a rule, no excess, but the
remarks were apt to be disconnected and woolly ; and
the wife, who never had grog for herself, but alwaj'-s
sipped her husband's went to sleep. Eleven o'clock
saw all Cowfold in bed, and disturbed only by such
dreams as were begotten of the previous liver and bacon
and alcohol.

There were no villains amongst that portion of the
inhabitants with which this history principall}^ concerns
itself, nor was a single adventure of any kind ever known
to happen beyond the adventures of being born, getting
married, falling sick, and dying, with now and then
an accident from a gig. Consequently it might be though
that there was no romance in Cowfold. There could
not be a greater mistake. The history of every boy or
girl of ordinary make is one of robbery, murder, imprison-
ment, death sentence, filing of chains, scaling of prison
walls, recapture, scaffold, reprieve, poison, and pistols ;
the difference between such a history and that in the
authorised versions being merely circumstantial. The
garden of Eden, the murder of Cain, the deluge, the
salvation of Noah, the exodus from Egypt, David and
Bathsheba, with the murder of Uriah, the Assyrian
invasion, the Incarnation, the Atonement, and the
Resurrection from the Dead ; to say nothing of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, the tragedy of
Count Cenci, the execution of Mary Queen of Scots,
the Inquisition in Spain, and Revolt of the Netherlands,
all happened in Cowfold, as well as elsewhere, and were
perhaps more interesting there because they could be
studied in detail and the records were authentic.

Church Street, Cowfold— that is to say, the street

i64 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

in Avliich the church stood — was tolerably broad going
east and west, so that the sun shone full on the white
window-frames and red brick of Mr. Muston's house,
in which everything seemed to sleep in eternal calm.
On the opposite side was the seminary, also red brick
and white paint, facing the north ; but, to make amends,
the garden had a southern aspect, and the back of the
house was covered with a huge magnolia whose edges
curled round to the western side, so that it could be seen
by wayfarers. It was a sight not to be forgotten —
the red brick, the white paint, the July sun, the mag-
nolia leaves, the flanking elms on the east high above
the chimneys, the glimpse of the acre of lawn through
the great gates when they happened to be open, the
peace, so profound, of summer noon ! How lovely it
looks as it hovers unsteadily before the eye, seen through
the transfiguring haze of so many years ! It was really
there is no doubt about it, handsomer than the stuccoed
villa which stares at us over the way ; but yet, if Cow-
fold Church Street, red brick, white paint, elms, lawn,
and midsummer repose could be restored at the present
moment, would it be exactly what the vision of it is ?
"What is this magic gift which even for the humblest
of us paints and frames these enchanting pictures ?
It is nothing less than the genius which is common to
humanity. If we are not able to draw or model, we
possess the power to select, group, and clothe with
an ideal grace, which is the very soul of art, and every
man and woman, every bush, nay, every cabbage, cup,
and saucer, provided only it be not actually before us,
becomes part of a divine picture. Would that we could
do with the present what we do with the past 1 We
can do something if we try.

At the end of Church Street came the vicarage, and
then the churchyard, with the church. Beyond was
the park, which half embraced Cowfold, for it was
possible to enter it not only from Church Street, but
from North Street, which ran at right angles to it.
The Hall was not much. It was a large plain stone
mansion, built in the earlier part of the eighteenth

COWFOLD 165

century ; but in front of the main entrance was a double
row of limes stretching for a quarter of a mile, and the
whole of the park was broken up into soft swelling
hills, from whose tops, owing to the flatness of the coun-
try round, an almost immeasurable distance could be
seen, gradually losing itself in deepening mist of tender-
est blue. The park, too, was not rigidly circumscribed.
Public roads led through it. It melted on two or three
sides into cultivated fields, and even the private garden
of the Hall seemed a part of it ; for there was nothing
between them but a kind of grassy ditch and an almost
invisible fence. The domain of Cowfold Hall was the
glory of Cowfold and the pride of its inhabitants. The
modern love of scenery was not known in Cowfold,
and still less was that worship of landscape and nature
known which, as before observed, is peculiar to the
generation born under the influence of Wordsworth.
We have learnt, however, from Zachariah that even before
Wordsworth's days people were sometimes touched
by dawn or sunset. The morning cheered, the moon
lent pathos and sentiment, and the stars awoke un-
answerable interrogations in Cowfold, although it knew
no poetry, save Dr. Watts, Pollok's Course of Time,
and here and there a little of Cowper. Under the
avenue, too, whose slender columns, in triple rows on
either side, rose to an immense height, and met in a roof
overhead with all the grace of cathedral stone, and
without its superincumbent weight and imprisonment
— -a roof that was not impervious to the sunlight, but
let it pass and fall in quivering flakes on the ground —
Cowfold generally took off its hat, partly, no doubt,
because the place was cool, but also as an act of homage.
Here and in the woods adjoining youths and rnaidens for
three hundred years had walked and made love, for,
though the existing house was new, it stood on the site
of a far older building. Dead men and women, lord
and churl, gone to indistinguishable dust, or even beyond
that — gone perhaps, into vapour and gas, which had
been blown to New Zealand, and become men and
women again — had burned with passion here, and vowed

F

i66 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

a union which was to last beyond the Judgment Day.
They wept here, quarrelled here, rushed again into one
another's arms here, swore to one another here, when
Henry the Eighth was king ; and they wept here,
quarrelled here, embraced here, swore here, in exactly
the same mad fashion, when William the Fourth sat
upon the throne. Half-way up the avenue was a stone
pillar commanding a gentle descent, one way to the
Hall, and the other way to the lodge. It set forth
the anguish of a former lord of the time of Queen Anne,
who had lost his wife when she was twenty-six years
old. She was beneath him in rank, but very beautiful,
and his affection for her had fought with and triumphed
over the cruel opposition of father, mother, and re-
lations, who had other designs. He had made enemies
of them all ; but he won his wife, and, casting hler in
the scale, father, mother, and friends were as gossamer.
She died two years after the wedding — to the very day.
Rich in her love, he had never taken a thought to pro-
pitiate anybody, nor to make friends with the Mammon
of Unrighteousness, and when she suddenly departed,
he turned round and found himself alone. So far from
knocking at men's doors, he more fiercely hated those
who now, touched with pity, would gladly have wel-
comed him. He broke from them all, lived his own life,
was rr/iuted to be a freethinker, and when he came
to his estate, a long while afterwards, he put up the
obelisk, and recorded in Latin how Death, the foul
adulterer, had ravished his sweet bride — the coward
Death whom no man could challenge — and that the
incon.solable bridegroom had erected this monument
in memory of her matchless virtues. That was all : no
blessed resurrection nor trust in the Saviour. The
Reverend John Broad, minister of Tanner's Lane Chapel,
when he brought visitors here regularly translated
the epitaph. He was not very good at Latin, but he
had somehow found out its meaning. He always ob-
served that it was not classic, and consequently not
easy to render. He pointed out, too, as a further
Curiosity, which somewhat increased the difficulty to

COWFOLD 167

any ordinary person, that V was used for U, and I for
J. He never, as might be expected, omitted to enlarge
upon the omission of any reference to the Atoning Blood
and the Life to Come, and remarked how the poor man's
sufferings would have been entirely " assuaged " —
a favourite word with Mr. Broad— if he had believed
in those " remedies." At the same time Mr. Broad
dwelt upon the " associations " of the avenue, which,
he thought, added much to its natural " attractiveness."
Cowfold thought so too, and welcomed the words as
exactly expressing what it felt. John ] iroad and Cowfold
were right, and more right, perhaps, than they knew.
The draper's young man, who walked through the park
with his arm round his young woman's waist, looked
up at the obelisk, repeated its story, and became more
serious. Thus it came to pass that the old lord's love
hved again somewhat in the apprentice, and that wliicli
to the apprentice seemed most particularly himself
was a little bit of the self of the Queen Anne's earl long
since asleep in the vault under Cowfold Church.

CHAPTER XVII

When Wilt Thou Arise out of Th-t Sleep ?
Yet a Little Sleep

The Reverend John Broad was minister of Tanner's
Lane Chapel, or, more properly. Meeting-house, a three
gabled building, with the date 1688 upon it, which stood
in a short street leading out of North Street. Why it.
was called Tanner's Lane nobody knew ; for not in the-
memory of man had any tanner carried on his trade
there. There was nothing of any consequence in it
but the meeting-house, and when people said Tanner's
Lane this was what they meant. There were about
seven hundred and fifty sittings in it, and on Sundays
it was tolerably full, for it was attended by large numbers
of people from the surrounding villages, who came
in gigs and carts, and brought their dinners with them,
which they ate in the vestry. It was, in fact, the centre
of the Dissenting activity for a whole district. It had
small affiliated meeting-houses in places like Sheepgate,
Hackston Green, and Bull's Cross, in which service was
held on Sunday evening by the deacons of Tanner's
Lane, or by some of the young men whom Mr. Broad
prepared to be missionaries. For a great many years
the congregation had apparently undergone no change
in character ; but the uniformity was only apparent.
The fervid piety of Cowper's time and of the Evangelical
revival was a thing almost of the past. The Reverend
John Broad was certainly not of the Revival type.
He was a big, gross-feeding, heavy person, with heavy

168

WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP ? 169

•ox-face and large mouth, who miglit liavc been bad
■enough for an>i;hing if nature had ordained that he should
have been born in a hovel at Sheepgate or in the Black
Country. As it happened, his father was a woollen
draper, and John was brought up to the trade as a youth ;
got tired of it, thought he might do something more
respectable ; went to a Dissenting College ; took charge
of a little chapel in Buckinghamshire ; married early ;
was removed to Tanner's Lane, and became a preacher
of the Gospel. He was moderate in all of what he called
his " views ; " neither ultra-Calvinist nor Arminian ;
not rigid upon Baptism, and certainly much unlike his
lean and fervid predecessor, the Reverend James Harden,
M.A., who w^as educated at Cambridge ; threw up all
his chances there when he became convinced of sin ;
cast in his lot with the Independents, and wrestled even
unto blood with the world, the flesh, and the devil in
Cowfold for thirty years, till he was gathered to his rest.
A fiery, ardent, untamable soul was Harden's, bold
and uncompromising. He never scrupled to tell any-
body what he thought, and would send an arrow sharp
and swift through any iniquity, no matter where it
might couch. He absolutely ruled Cowfold, hated by
many, beloved by many, feared by all — a genuine
soJdier of the Cross. Mr. Broad very much preferred
the indirect mode of doing good, and if he thought a
brother had done wrong, contented himself with praying
in private for him. He was, however, not a hypocrite,
that is to say, not an ordinary novel or stage liypocrite.
There is no such thing as a human being simply hypo-
critical or simply sincere. We are all hypocrites, more
or less, in every word and every action, and, what is
more, in every thought. It is a question simply of
degree. Furthermore, there are degrees of natural
capacity for sincerity, and Mr. Broad was probably
as sincere as his build of soul and body allowed him
to be. Certainly no doubt as to the truth of what he
preached ever crossed his mind. He could not doubt,
for there was no doubt in the air ; and yet he could
not believe as Harden beheved, for neither was Harden's

170 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE *

belief now in the air. Nor was Mr. Broad a criminal
in any sense. He was upright, on the whole, in all his
transactions, although a little greedy and hard, people
thought, when the trustees propo.sed to remit to Widow
Oakfield, on her husband's death, half the rent of a small
field belonging to the meeting-house, and contributing
a modest sum to Mr. Broad's revenue. He objected.
Widow Oakfield was poor ; but then she did not belong
to Tanner's Lane, and was said to have relations who
could help her. Mr. Broad loved his wife decently,
brought up his children decently, and not the slightest
breath of scandal ever tarnished his well-polished re-
putation. On some points he was most particular,
and no young woman who came to him with her ex-
perience before she was admitted into the church was
ever seen by him alone. Always was a deacon present,
and all Cowfold admitted that the minister was most
discreet. Another recommendation, too, was that he
was temperate in his drink. He was not so in his meat.
Supper was his great meal, and he would then consume
beef, ham, or sausages, hot potatoes, mixed pickles,
fruit pies, bread, cheese, and celery in quantities which
were remarkable even in those days ; but he never drank
anythi ig but beer — a pint at dinner and a pint at supper.
On one Monday afternoon in July, 1840, Mr. and Mrs.
Broad sat at tea in the study. This was Mr. Broad's
habit on Monday afternoon. On that day, after the
three sermons on the Sunday, he always professed him-
self " Mondayish." The morning was given over to
calling in the town ; wlien he had dined he slept in his
large leathern chair ; and at five husband and wife had
tea by themselves. Thomas, the eldest son, and his
two younger sisters, Priscilla and Tryphosa, aged seven-
teen and fifteen, were sent to the dining-room. Mr.
Broad never omitted this custom of spending an hour
and a half on Monday with Mrs. Broad. It gave them
an opportunity of talking over the affairs of the con-
gregation, and it added to Mr. Broad's importance
with the missionary students, because they saw how
great were the weight and fatigue of the pastoral office.

WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP ? 171

A flock like that which was shepherded by Mr. Broad
required some management. Mrs. Broad took the
women, and Mr. Broad the men ; but Mrs. Broad was
not a very able tactician. She was a Flavel by birth,
and came from, a distant part of the country. Her
father was a Dissenting minister ; but he was Dr.
Flavel, with a great chapel in a great town. Con-
sequently she gave herself airs, and occasionally let fall,
to the great displeasure of the Cowfold ladies, words
which implied some disparagement of Cowfold. She
was a shortish, stout, upright little woman, who used a
large fan and spoke with an accent strange to the Mid-
lands. She was not a great help to the minister, because
she was not suthciently flexible and insinuating for her
position ; but nevertheless they always worked together,
and she followed as well as she could the directions of
her astuter husband, who, considering his bovine cast,
was endowed with quite a preternatural sagacity in the
secular business of his profession.

On this particular afternoon, however, the subject
of the conversation was not the congregation, but young
Thomas Broad, aged eighteen, the exact, and almost
ridiculously exact, counterpart of his father. He had
never been allowed to go to school, but had been taught
at home. There was only one day-school in Cowfold,
and his mother objected to the " mixture." She had
been heard to say as much, and Cowfold resented this
too, and the Cowfold youths resented it by holding
Tommy Broad in extreme contempt. He had never
been properly a boy, for he could play at no boyish
games ; had a tallowy, unpleasant complexion, went for
formal walks, and carried gloves. But though in a
sense incompletely developed, he was not incompletely
developed in another direction. He was at what is
called an awkward age, and both father and mother had
detected in him an alarming tendency to enjoy the
society of young women— a tendency much stimulated
by his unnatural mode of hfe. Thomas was already a
member of the church and was a teacher in the Sunday-
school ; but his mother was uneasy, for a serious

172 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

attachment between Thomas and anybody in the town
would have been very distasteful to her. The tea having
been poured out, and Mr. Broad having fairly settled down
upon the buttered toast and radishes, Mrs. Broad began :

" Have you thought anything more about Thomas,
oiy dear ? "

Being a minister's son, he was never called Tom by
either papa or mamma.

" Yes, my love ; but it is very difficult to know how
to proceed judiciously in such a case."

'■ Mrs. Allen asked me, last Wednesday, when he
was going to leave home, and I told her we had not
made up our minds. She said that her brother in Bir-
mingham wanted a youth in his office, but my answer
was directly that we had quite determined that Thomas
should not enter into any trade."

" What did she say ? "

" That she was not surprised, for she hardly thought
Thomas was fitted for it."

The minister looked grave and perplexed, for Mr.
Allen was in trade, and was a deacon. Mrs. Broad
proceeded :

I am quite sure Thomas ought to be a minister ;
and I am quite sure, too, he ought to leave Cowfold
and go to college."

" Don't 5'ou think this event might be procrasti-
nated ; the expense would be considerable."

" Well, my dear, Fanny Allen came here to tea the
day before yesterday. When she went away she could
not find her clogs. I was on the landing, and saw what
happened, though they did not think it. Fanny's
brother was waiting outside. Priscilla had gone some-
where for the moment — I don't know where — and -
Tryphosa was upstairs. Thomas said he would look
for the clogs, and presently I saw him fastening them
for her. Then he walked with her down the garden.
I just went into the front bedroom and looked. It was
not very dark, and, — well, I may be mistaken, but I

do believe " The rest of the sentence was wanting.

Mrs. Broad stopped at this point. She felt it was more

WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP ? 173

becoming to do so. She shifted on her chair with a
fidgety motion, threw her head back a httle, looked up
at the portrait of Dr. Flavel in gown and bands which
hung over the fireplace, straightened her gown upon
her knees, and pushed it forward over her feet so as to
cover them altogether — a mute protest against the
impropriety of the scene she had partly described.
Mr. Broad inwardly would have liked her to go on ;
but he always wore his white neckerchief, except when
he was in bed, and he was still the Reverend John
Broad, although nobody but his wife was with him.
He therefore refrained, but after a while slowly observed :

" Thomas has not made much progress in systematic
theology."

" They do not require much on admission, do they ?
He knows the outlines, and I am sure the committee
will recollect my father and be glad to get Thomas.
I have heard that the social position of the candidates is
not what it used to be, and that they wish to obtain
some of a superior stamp, who ultimately may be found
adapted to metropolitan churches."

" One of the questions last year, my dear, was upon
the office of the Comforter, and you remember Josiah
Collins was remanded. I hardly think Thomas is
sufficiently instructed on that subject at present ;
and there are others. On the whole, it is preferable
that he should not go till September twelvemonths."

" His personal piety would have weight."

" Undoubtedly."

There was a pause, and Mrs. Broad then continued :

" Well, my dear, you know best ; but what about
Fanny ? I shall not ask her again. How very forward,

and indeed altogether " Another stoppage, another

twitch at her gown, with another fidget on the chair,
the eyes going up to Dr. Flavel's bands as before. " In
our house too — to put herself in Thomas's way ! "

Ah ! Mrs. fBroad, are you sure Thomas did not go
out of his way — even in your house, that eminently
respectable, eminently orthodox residence — even
Thomas, your Samuel, who had been granted to the

174 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

Lord, and who, to use his own words when his written
rehgious autobiography was read at the church-meeting,
being the child of pious parents, and of many prayers,
had nev'er been exposed to those assaults of the enemy
of souls which beset ordinary young men, and conse-
quently had not undergone a sudden conversion ?

" But," observed Mr. Broad, leaning back in his
easy-chair, and half covering his face with his great
broad, fat hand, "we shall offend the Aliens if Fanny
does not come, and we shall injure the cause."

" Has George Allen, Fanny's brother, prayed at the
prayer-meeting yet ? He was admitted two months
ago."

" No."

" Then ask his father to let him pray ; and we need
not invite Fanny till Thomas has left."

The papa objected that perhaps Thomas might go
to the Allen's, but the mamma, with Dr. Flavel's bands
before her, assured him that Thomas would do nothing
of the kind. So it was settled that Mr. Broad should
call at the Allen's to-morrow, and suggest that George
should " engage " on the following Thursday. This, it
was confidently hoped, would prevent any suspicion on
their part that Fanny had been put aside. Of course,
once having begun, George would be regularly on the list.

CHAPTER XVIII

A Religious Picnic

Occasionally, in the summer months, Tanner's Lane
indulged in a picnic ; that is to say, the principal
members of the congregation, with their wives and
children, had an early dinner, and went in gigs and
four-wheel chaises to Shott Woods, taking hampers
of bread, cake, jam, butter, ham, and other eatables
with them. At Shott Woods, in a small green space
under an immense oak, a fire was lighted and tea was
prepared. Mr. Broad and his family always joined the
party. These were the days when Dissenters had no
set amusements, and the entertainment at Shott mainly
consisted in getting the sticks for the fire, fetching the
water, and waiting on one another ; the waiting being
particularly pleasant to the younger people. Dancing,
of course, was not thought of. In 1840 it may safely be
said that there were not twenty Independent families
in Great Britain in which it would have been tolerated,
and, moreover, none but the rich learned to dance.
No dancing-master ever came into Cowfold ; there was
no music-master there ; no concert was ever gi\-en ;
and Cowfold, in fact, never " saw nor heard anything,"
to use a modern phrase, save a travelling menagerie
with a brass band. What an existence ! How did
they live ? It's certain, however, that they did live,
and, on the whole, enjoyed their life.

The picnics were generally on a Monday, as a kind of
compliment to Mr. Broad, who was supposed to need

175

176 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

rest and change on Monday, and who was also supposed
not to be able to spare the time on any other day.
About a month after the conversation recorded in the
previous chapter Tanner's Lane was jogging along to
Shott on one of its excursions. It was a brilliant, blazing
afternoon towards the end of August. The com stood
in shocks, and a week with that sun would see it all
stacked. There was no dreary suburb round Cowfold,
neither town nor country, to shut out country influences.
The fields came up to the gardens and orchards at the
back of half the houses, and flowed irregularly, like an
inundation, into the angles of the streets. As you
walked past the great gate of the " Angel " yard you
could see the meadow at the bottom belonging to
Hundred Acres. Consequently all Cowfold took an
interest in agriculture, and knew a good deal about it.
Every shopkeeper was half a farmer, and understood
the points of a pig or a horse. Cowfold was not a town
properly speaking, but the country a little thickened
and congested. The conversation turned upon the
crops, and more particularly upon turnips and drainage,
both of them a new importation. Hitherto all the
parishes round had no drainage whatever, excepting
along the bottoms of the ridges, and the now familiar
red pipes had just made their appearance on a farm
belonging to a stranger to those parts — a young fellow
from Norfolk. Everybody was sceptical, and called
him a fool. Everybody wanted to know how water
was going to get through fifteen inches of heavy land
when it would lie for two days where a horse trod.
However, the pipes went in, and it so happened that the
first wet day after they were laid was a Sunday. The
congregation in Shott Church was very restless, although
the sermon was unusually short. One by one they
crept out, and presently they were followed by the
parson. All of them had collected in the pouring rain
and were watching the outfall in the ditches. To their
unspeakable amazement the pipes were all running !
Shott scratched its head and was utterly bewildered.
A new idea in a brain not accustomed to the invasion of

A RELIGIOUS PICNIC 177

ideas produces a disturbance like a revolution. It
causes giddiness almost as bad as that of a fit, and an
extremely unpleasant sensation of hav-ing been whirled
round and turned head over heels. It was the beginning
of new things in Shott, the beginning of a break-down
in its traditions ; a belief in something outside the
ordinary parochial uniformities was forced into the
skull of every man, woman, and child by the evidence
of the senses ; and when other beliefs asked, in the
course of time, for admittance they found the entrance
easier than it would have been otherwise.

The elderly occupants of the Tanner's Lane gigs and
chaises talked exclusively upon these and other cognate
topics. The sons and daughters talked about other things
utterly unworthy of any record in a serious history.
Delightful their chatter was to them. What does it
signify to eighteen years what is said on such an after-
noon by seventeen years, when seventeen years is in a
charming white muslin dress, with the prettiest hat ?
Words are of importance between me and you, who care
little or nothing for one another. But there is a thrice
blessed time when words are nothing. The real word is
that which is not uttered. We may be silent, or we
may be eloquent with nonsense or sense — it is all one.
So it was between George Allen and Miss Priscilla
Broad, who at the present moment were sitting next to
one another. George was a broad, hearty, sandy-
haired, sanguine-faced young fellow of one and twent}',
eldest son of the ironmonger. His education had been
that of the middle classes of those days. Leaving school
at fourteen, he had been apprenticed to his father for
seven years, and had worked at the forge down the
backyard before coming into the front shop. On week-
days he generally wore a waistcoat with sleeves and a
black apron. He was never dirty ; in fact, he was
rather particular as to neatness and cleanliness ; but
he was always a httle dingy and iron-coloured, as retail
ironmongers are apt to be. He was now in charge of
the business under his father ; stood behind the counter ;
weighed nails ; examined locks brought lor repair ;

i/S THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

went to the different houses in Cowfold with a man
under him to look at boiler-pipes, the man wearing a
cap and George a tall hat. He had a hard, healthy,
honest life, was up at six o'clock in the morning, ate
well, and slept well. He was always permitted by his
father to go on these excursions, and, in fact, they
could not have been a success without him. If any-
thing went wrong he was always the man to set it right.
If a horse became restive, George was invariably the
one to jump out, and nobody else thought of stirring.
He had good expectations. The house in which the
Aliens lived was their own. Mr. Allen did a thriving
trade, not only in Cowfold, but in all the country round,
and particularly among the village blacksmiths, to
whom he sold iron. He had steadily saved money, and
had enlarged the original little back parlour into a
room which would hold comfortably a tea-party of ten
or a dozen.

INIiss Priscilla Broad was framed after a different
model. Her face was not much unlike that of one of
those women of the Restoration so familiar to us in
half a hundred pictures. Not that Restoration levity
and Restoration manners were chargeable to Miss
Priscilla. She never forgot her parentage ; but there
were the same kind of prettiness, the same sideways
look, the same simper about the lips, and there were
the same fiat unilluminated eyes. She had darkish
brown hair, which fell in rather formal curls on her
shoulder, and she was commonly thought to be " deli-
cate." Like her sister and brother, she had never been
to school, on account of the " mixture," but had been
taught by her mother. Her accomplishments included
Scripture and English history, arithmetic, geography,
the use of the globes, and dates. She had a very
difficult part to play in Cowfold, for she was obliged to
visit freely all Tanner's Lane, but at the same time to
hold herself above it and not to form any exclusive
friendships. These would have been most injudicious,
because, in the first place, they would have excited
jealousy, and, in the next place, the minister's daughter

A RELIGIOUS PICNIC 179

could tiot be expected to be very intimate with anybody
belonging to the congregation. She was not particularly
popular with the majority, and was even thought to be
just a bit of a fool. But what could she have been with
such surroundings ? The time had passed when religion
could be talked on week-days, and the present time,
when ministers' children learn French,"^ German, and
Latin, and read selected plays of Shakespeare, had not
come. Miss Priscilla Broad found it very difficult, also,
to steer her course properly amongst the young men in
Cowfold. Mrs. Broad would not have permitted any
one of them for a moment to dream of an alliance with
her family. As soon might a Princess of the Blood
Royal unite herself with an ordinary knight. Miss
Broad, however, as her resources within herself were
not particularly strong, thought about little or nothing
else than ensnaring the hearts of the younger Cowfold
males — that is to say, the hearts which were converted ;
and yet she encouraged none of them, save by a general
acceptance of little attentions, by little mincing smiles,
and little mincing speeches.

" Such a beautiful day," said George, " and such
pleasant company ! "

" Really, Mr. Allen, don't you think it would have
been pleasanter for you in front ? " ■

" What did you say, my dear ? " came immediately
from her mother, the ever- watchful dragon just before
them. She forthwith turned a little round, for the sun
was on her left hand, and with her right eye kept Priscilla
well in view for the rest of the journe}'.

In the chaise behind pretty much the same story
was told, but with a difference. In the back part were
Mr. Thomas Broad and Miss Fanny Allen, the arrange-
ment which brought these two together was most
objectionable to Mrs. Broad ; but unfortunately she was
a little late in startmg, and it was made before she
arrived. She could not, without insulting the Aliens,
have it altered ; but she consoled herself by vowing
that it should not stand on the return journey in the
dusk. Miss Fanny was flattered that the minister's

i8o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

son should be by her side, and the minister's son was not
in the least deterred from playing v^ith Miss Fanny by
the weight of responsibihty which oppressed and checked
his sister. He did not laugh much ; he had not a
nature for wholesome laughter, but he chuckled,
lengthened his hps, half shut his eyes ; asked his com-
panion whether the rail did not hurt her, put his arm on
the top, so that she might lean against it, and talked in
a manner which even she would have considered a Uttle
silly and a httle odd, if his position, that of a student
for the ministry, had not surrounded him with such a
halo of glory.

Presently Shott Woods were reached ; the parcels
and hampers were unpacked, the fire was lit, the tea
prepared, and the pastor asked a blessing. Everybody
sat on the grass, save the reverend gentleman and his
wife, who had chairs which had been brought on purpose.
It would not have been considered proper that Mr. or Mrs.
Broad should sit upon the grass, and indeed physically
it would have been inconvenient to IMr. Broad to do so.
He ate his ham in considerable quantities, adding thereto
much plumcake, and excusing himself on the ground
that the ride had given him an appetite. The meal being
over, grace was said, and the victuals that were left
were repacked. About an hour remained before the
return journey began. This was usually passed in
sauntering about or in walking to the springs, a mile
away, down one of the grass drives. Mrs. Broad never
for a moment lost sight of Thomas, and pressed him as
much as possible into her service ; but when Mrs. Allen
announced that the young people had all determined
to go to the springs, Mrs. Broad could not hold out.
Accordingly off they started, under strict orders to be
back by eight. They mixed themselves up pretty
indiscriminately as they left their seniors ; but after a
while certain affinities displayed themselves, George being
found with Priscilla, for example, and Thomas with
Fanny. The party kept together ; but Thomas and
Fanny lagged somewhat till they came to a little opening
in the underwood, which Thomas said was a short cut.

A RELIGIOUS PICNIC i8i

and he pressed her to try it with him. She agreed, and
they shpped out of sight nearly, but not, quite, un-
observed. Thomas professed himself afraid Fanny
might be tired, and offered his arm. She again con-
sented, not without a flutter, and so they reached a
clearing with three or four paths branching from it.
Thomas was puzzled, and as for Fanny, she knew nothing.
To add to their perplexity some drops of rain were felt.
She was a httle frightened, and was anxious to try one
of the most likely tracks which looked, she thought,
as if it went to the springs, where they could take
shelter in the cottage with the others. Thomas, how-
ever, was doubtful, and proposed that they should stand
up in a shed which had been used for faggot-making.
The rain, which now came down heavily, enforced his
arguments, and she felt obliged to stay till the shower
had ceased.

" Only think, Fanny," he said, " to he here alone with
you ! "

He called her Fanny now ; he had always called her
Miss Allen before.

" Yes," said she, not knowing what answer to make.
" You are cold," he added, with a little trembling in
his voice and a little more light than usual in his eyes.
" Oh no, I am not cold."

" I know you are," and he took her hand ; " why, it
is quite cold."

" Oh dear no, Mr. Thomas, it is really not cold," and
she made a movement to withdraw it, but it remained.
The touch of the hand caused his voice to shake a
little more than before.

" I say you are cold ; come a httle closer to me.
What will your mamma say if you catch a chill ? " and
he drew Fanny a little nearer to him. The thick blood
now drove through him with increasing speed : every-
thing seemed in a mist, and a httle perspiration was on
his forehead. His arm found its way round Fanny's
waist, and he pressed her closer and closer to him till his
hot hps were upon her cheek. She made two or three
futile attempts to release herself ; but she might as

1 82 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

well have striven with that brazen, red-hot idol who was
made to clasp his victims to death. She was frightened
and screamed, when suddenly a strong man's voice was
heard calling " Fanny, Fanny." It was her brother.
Knowing that she and Thomas had no umbrellas, he
had brought them a couple.

" But, Fanny," he cried, " did I not hear you scream ?
What was the matter ? "

" Nothing," hastily interposed Thomas ; " she thought
she saw it lighten." Fanny looked at Thomas for a.
moment ; but she was scared and bewildered, and held
her p>eace.

The three went down to the rendezvous together,
where the rest of the party had already assembled. Mrs.
Broad had been very uneasy when she found that
Thomas and Fanny were the only absentees, and she
had urged George the moment she saw him to look for
his sister without a moment's delay. The excuse of
the rain was given and accepted ; but Mrs. Broad felt
convinced .from Fanny's forward look that she had
once more thrown herself in the way of her beloved
child, her delicate Samuel. She was increasingly anxious
that he should go to college, and his papa promised at
once to transmit the application. Meanwhile, in the
few days left before the examination, he undertook to
improve Thomas where he was weakest, that is to say,
in Systematic Theology, and more particularly in the
doctrine of the Comforter.

CHAPTER XIX

*' The Kingdom of Heaven is like unto Leaven "

Mr. Isaac Allen, Fanny's father, was an ardent Whig
in poUtics — what in later years would have been called
a Radical. He had been apprenticed in London, and
had attended Mr. Bradshaw's ministrations there. He
was the chosen friend of Zachariah Coleman ; but
allhojgh he loved Zachariah, he had held but little
intercourse with him during his first marriage.
There were family reasons for the estrangement, due
principally to a quarrel between Mrs. Isaac and the
first Mrs. Zachariah. But after Mrs. Zachariah had
died and her husband suffered so much Isaac was drawn
to him again. He was proud of him as a martyr for a
good cause, and he often saw him when he went to
London on business.

It was in consequence of these London visits that
books appeared on the little book-shelf in Cowfold Square
which were to be found nowhere else in the town, at
any rate not in the Dissenting portion of it. It was a
little bookcase, it is true, for people in country places
were not great readers in those days ; but Sir Walter
Scott was there, and upstairs in Mr. Allen's room there
was Byron — not an uncut copy, but one well used both
by husband and wife. Mrs. Allen was not a particularly
robust woman, although she was energetic. Often,
without warning, she would not make her appearance
till twelve or one o'clock in the day, and would have her
fire alight in her bedroom and take her breakfast in bed.

183

i84 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

It was well understood when she was not at the table
with the others that the house was to be kept quiet.
After a cup of tea — nothing more — she rose and sat
reading for a good two hours. It was not that she was
particularly unwell — she simply needed rest. Every
now and then retreat from the world and perfect isolation
were a necessity to her. If she forced herself to come
downstairs when she ought to be by herself she became
really ill. Occasionally the fire was alight in the evening,
too, and she would be off the moment tea was over,
Isaac frequently joining her then, although he never
remained with her in the morning. She was almost
sure to escape on the day following any excite;ment or
undue worry about household affairs. She knew Sir
Walter Scott from end to end, and as few people knew
him. He had been to her, and to her husband too,
what he can only be to people leading a dull life far from
the world. He had broken up its monotony and created
a new universe ! He had introduced them into a royal
society of noble friends. He had added to the ordinary
motives which prompted Cowfold action a thousand
higher motives. Then there was the charm of the magician,
so sanative, so blessed, felt directly any volume of that
glorious number was opened. Kenilworth or Redgauntlet
was taken down, and the reader was at once in another
country and in another age, transpc*ted as it by some
Arabian charm away from Cowfold cares. If anywhere
in another world the blessings which men have conferred
here are taken into account in distributing reward,
surely the choicest in the store of the Most High will be
reserved for His servant Scott ! It may be said of others
that they have made the world wise or rich, but of him
it must be said that he, more than all, has made the world
happier — wiser too, wiser through its happiness.

Of the influence of Byron nothing more need be
said here, because so much has been said before. It
may seem strange that the deacon of a Dissenting chapel
and his wife could read him, and could continue to wait
upon the ministrations of the Reverend John Broad ;
but I am only stating a fact. Mrs. Allen could repeat

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LIKE LEAVEN 185

page after page of Childe Harold, and yet she went
diligently to Tanner's Lane. Part of what was read
exhaled in the almost republican politics of the Allen
household ; but it had also its effect in another direction,
and it was always felt by the Broads that the Aliens
were questionable members of the flock. They
were gathered into the fold on Sunday, and had the
genuine J. B. on their wool, but there was a cross in
them. There was nothing which could be urged against
them. No word of heresy ever escaped them, no sympton
of disbelief was ever seen and yet Mr. Broad often
desired exceedingly that they were different, was never
at ease with them, and in his heart of hearts bitterly
hated them. After all that can be said by way of
explanation, there was much in this concealed animosity
of Mr. Broad which was unaccountable. It was con-
cealed because he was far too worldly-wise to show it
openly ; but it was none the less intense. Indeed, it
was so intense as to be almost inconsistent with Mr.
Broad's cast of character, and his biographer is at a
loss to find the precise point where it naturally connects
itself with the main stem from which branch off the rest
of his \irtues and vices. However, there it was, and
perhaps some shrewder psychologist may be able to
explain how such a passion could be begotten in a
nature otherwise so somnolent.

For this literary leaven in the Allen's household,
as we have said, Zachariah was answerable. Mrs.
Allen loved him as she loved her father, and he wrote
to her long letters, through which travelled into Cow-
fold Square all the thought of the Revolution. He
never went to Cowfold himself, nor couid he ever be per-
suaded to let little Pauline go. She had been frequently
invited, but he always decUned the invitation courteously
on the ground that he could not spare her. The fame
of her beauty and abilities had, however, reached
Cowfold, and so it came to pass that when Mr. Thomas
Broad, junior, being duly instructed in the doctrine
of the Comforter, entered the Di-ssenting College in
London, he determined that at the first opportunity

i86 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

he would call and see her. He had been privately
warned both by his father and mother that ho was on
no account to visit this particular friend of the Aliens,
firstly, because Zachariah was reputed to be." inclined
towards infidelity," and secondly, because, summing up
the whole argument, he was not " considered respect-
able."

" Of course, my dear, you know his history," quoth
Mrs. Broad, " and it would very much interfere with
your usefulness if you were to be intimate with him."

Little Pauline had by this time grown to be a woman,
or very nearly one. She had, as in nine times, perhaps,
out of ten is the case, inherited her temperament from
her mother. She had also inherited something more,
for she was like her in face. She had the same luxuri-
antly dark hair — a wonder to behold when it was let
down over her shoulders — the same grey eyes, the same
singularly erect attitude, and lips which, although
they were not tight and screwed up, were always set
witla decision. But her distinguishing peculiarity
was her inherited vivacity, which was perfectly natural,
but frequently exposed her — just as it did her mother —
to the charge of being theatrical. The criticism was as
unjust in her case as in that of her mother, if by being
theatrical we mean being unreal. The unreal person
is the half-alive languid person. Pauline felt what she
said, and acted it in every gesture. Her precious
promptitude of expression made her invaluable as a
companion to her father. He was English all over
and all through ; hypochondriacal, with a strong
tendency to self-involution and self-absorption. She
was only half English, or rather altogether French, and
when he came home in the evening he often felt as if
some heavy obstruction in his brain and about his
heart were suddenly dissolved. She and her mother
were like Hercules in the house of Admetus. Before
Hercules has promised to rescue Alcestis we feel that
the darkness has disappeared. Pauline was loved by
her father with intense passion. When she was a little
child, and he was left alone with a bitter sense of wrong.

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LIKE LEAVEN 187

a feeling that he had more than his proper share of Hfe's
misery, his heart was closed, and he cared for no friend-
ship. But the man's nature could not be thus thwarted,
and gradually it poured itself out in full flood — denied
exit elsewhere — at this one small point. He rejoiced to
find that he had not stiffened into death, and he often
went up to her bedside as she lay asleep, and the tears
came, and he thanked God, not only for her but for his
tears. He could not afford to bring her up like a lady,
but he did his best to give her a good education. He
was very anxious that she should learn French, and as
she was wonderfully quick at languages, she managed
in a very short time to speak it fluently.

CHAPTER XX

The Reverend Thomas Broad's Exposition of
Romans viii. 7

Such was the Coleman household when Mr. Thomas
Broad called one fine Monday afternoon about three
months after he had been at college. He had preached
his first sermon on the Sunday before, in a village about
twelve miles from London in a north-easterly direction,
somewhere in the fiat regions of Essex. Mr. Thomas
was in unusually good humour, for he had not broken
down, and thought he had crowned himself with glory.
The trial, to be sure, was not very severe. The so-called
chapel was the downstairs living-room of a cottage
holding at a squeeze about five-and-twenty people.
Nevertheless, there was a desk at one comer, with
two candles on either side, and Mr. Thomas was
actually, for the first time, elevated above an
audience. It consisted of the wheelwright and his
wife, both very old, half a dozen labourers, with their
wives, and two or three children. The old wheelwright,
as he was in business, was called the " principal support
of the cause." The " cause," however, was not par-
ticularly prosperous, nor its supporters enthusiastic.
In was " supplied " always by a succession of first- year's
students, who made their experiments on the corpus
vile here. Spiritual teaching, spiritual guidance,
these poor peasants had none, and when the Monda
came they went to their work in the marshes and else-
where, and lived their blind lives under grey skies, with

18S

THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION 189

nothing left in them of the Sunday, save the recollection
of a certain routine performed which might one day
save them from some disaster with which flames and
brimstone had something to do. It was not, however,
a reality to them. Neither the future nor the past was
real to them ; no spiritual existence was real ; nothing,
in fact, sake the most stimulant sensation. Once upon
a time, a man, looking towards the celestial city,
saw " The reflection of the sun upon the city (for
the city was of pure gold), so exceeding glorious that
he could not as yet with open face behold it, save
through an instrument made for that purpose ; "
but Mr. Thomas Broad and his hearers needed
no smoked glass now to prevent injury to their
eyes. Mr. Thomas had put on a white neckerchief,
had mounted the desk, and had spoken for three-quarters
of an hour from the text, " The carnal mind is at enmity
with God." He had received during the last three weeks
his first lectures on the " Scheme of Salvation," and his
discourse was a reproduction of his notes thereon. The
wheelwright and his wife, and the six labourers with
their wives, listened as oxen might listen, wandered
home along the lanes heavy-footed like oxen, with
heads towards the ground, and went heavily to bed.
The elder student who had accompanied Mr. Thomas
informed him that, on the whole, he had acquitted himself
very well, but that it would be better, perhaps, in future
to be a little simpler, and avoid what " may be called
the metaphysics of Redemption."

" No doubt," said he, " they are very attractive,
and of enormous importance. There is no objection
to expound them before a cultivated congregation in
London ; but in the villages we cannot be too plain
— that, at least, is my experience. Simply tell them
we are all sinners, and deserve damnation. God sent
His Son into the world. If we believe in Him we shall
be saved ; if not, we shall be lost. There is no mystery
in that ; everybody can understand it ; and people
are never weary of hearing the old old gospel."

Mr. Thomas was well contented with himself, as

iro THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

we have said, when he knocked at Zachariah's door.
It was opened by Pauline. He took off his hat and
smiled.

" My name is Broad. I come from Cowfold, and
know the Aliens very well. I am now living in London,
and having heard of you so often, I thought I should
like to call."

" Pray come in," she said ; "I am very glad to see
3'ou. I wish my father were here. "

He was shown into the little front room, and after
some inquiries about his relations Pauline asked him
where was his abode in London.

" At the Independent College. I am studying for
the ministry,"

Pauline was not quite sure what " the ministry "
meant ; but as Mr. Thomas had yesterday's white
tie round his neck — he always " dirtied out " the Sun-
day's neckerchief on Monday, and wore a black one on
the other weekdays — she guessed his occupation.

" Dear me ! you must be tired with walking so
far."

" Oh no, not tired with walking ; but the fact is
I am a little Mondayish."

" A little what ? "

Mr. Thomas giggled a little. " Ah, you young ladies,
of course, don't know what that means. I had to
conduct a service in the country yesterday, and am rather
fatigued. I am generally so on Mondays, and I always
relax on that day." This, it is to be remembered, was
his first Monday.

Pauline regretted very much that she had no wine
in the house ; neither had they any beer. They were
not total abstainers, but nothing of the kind was kept
in their small store-closet.

" Oh, thank you ; never mind." He took a bottle
of smelling-salts from the mantelpiece and smelt it.
The conversation flagged a little. Pauline sat at the
window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At last he
observed.

" Are you alone all day ? "

THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION iqi

" Generally, except on Sunday. Father does not
get home till late."

" Dear me ! And vou are not dull nor afraid ? "

" Dull or afraid ! "Why ? "

" Oh, well," he sniggered, " dull — why, young ladies,
3'ou know, usually like society. At least," and he
laughed a little greasy laugh at his wit, " we like theirs.
And then — afraid — well, if my sister were so attractive "
— he looked to see if this pretty compliment was effective
— " I should not like her to be without anj'body in the
house."

Pauline became impatient. She rose. " When you
come again," she said, " 1 hope my father will be here."

Mr. Thomas rose too. He had begun to feel awkward.
For want of something better to say, he asked whose
was the portrait over the mantelpiece.

" Major Cartwright."

" Major Cartwright ! Dear me, is that Major Cart-
wright ? " He had never heard of him before, but he
did not like to profess ignorance of a Major.

"And this likeness of this young gentleman?" he
inquired, looking at Pauline sideways, with an odious
simper on his lips. " Nobody I know, I suppose ?

" My father when he was one-and-twenty." She
moved towards the door. Mr. Thomas closed his
fat eyes till they became almost slits, simpered still
more effectively, as he thought, trusted he might
have the pleasure of calling again, and departed.

Pauline returned, opened the window and door for
ten minutes, and went upstairs. When she saw her
father she told him briefly that she had entertained a
visitor, and expressed her utter loathing of him in
terms so strong that he was obliged to check her. He
did not want a quarrel with any of Isaac's friends.

Mr. Thomas, having returned to the college, did
not delay to communicate by mysterious hints to his
colleagues that he was on visiting terms with a most
delightfully charming person, and sunned himself
deliciously in their bantering congratulations. About
three weeks afterwards he thought he might safely

192 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

repeat his visit ; but he was in a difficulty. He was not
quite so stupid as not to see that, the next time he went,
it ought to be when her father was present, and yet he
preferred his absence. At last he determined he would
go about tea-time. He was quite sure that Mr. Coleman
would not have returned then ; but he could assume
that he had, and would propose to wait for him. He
therefore duly presented himself at half-past five.

" Good-evening, Miss Coleman. Is your father at
home ? "

" No, not yet," replied Pauline, holding the door
doubtingly.

" Oh, I am so sorry ; " and, to Pauline's surprise,
he entered without any further ceremony. She hardly
knew what to do ; but she followed him as he walked
into the room, where she had just laid the tea-things
and put the bread and butter on the table.

" Oh, tea ! " he cried. " Dear me, it would be very
rude of me to ask myself to tea, and yet, do you know.
Miss Coleman, I can hardly help it."

" I am afraid my father will not be here till eight."

He sat down.

" That is very unfortunate. You will tell him I
came on purpose to see him."

Pauline hesitated whether she should or should not
inform Mr. Thomas that his presence was disagreeable,
but her father's caution recurred to her, and she poured
out a cup for her visitor.

It was one of his peculiarities that tea, of which he
took enormous quantities, made him garrulous, and
he expatiated much upon his college. By degrees,
however, he became silent, and as he was sitting with
his face to the window, he shifted his chair to the opposite
side, under the pretence that the light dazzled his eyes.
Pauline shifted too, apparently to make room for him,
but really to get farther from him.

" Do people generally say that you take after your
mother ? " he said.

" I believe I am like my mother in many things."

Another pause. He became fidgety ; the half smile.

THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION 193

half grin which he almost perpetually wore passed
altogether from his face, and he looked uncomfortable
and dangerous. Pauline felt him to be so, and resolved
that, come what might, he should never set foot in
the house again.

You have such black hair," he observed.

She rose to take away the tea-things.

" I am afraid," said she, " that I must go out ; I
have one or two commissions to execute."

He remained seated, and observed that surely she
would not go alone.

" Why not ? " and having collected the tea-things,
she was on the point of leaving. He then rose, and she
bade him good-bye. He held out his hand, and she
took it in hers, but he did not let it go, and having pulled
it upwards with much force, kissed it. He still held it,
and before the astonished Pauline knew what he was
doing his arm was round her waist. At that moment
the little front gate swung back. Nobody was there ;
but the Reverend Thomas was alarmed, and in an
instant she had freed herself, and had placed the table
between them.

" What do you mean, you Gadarene pig, you scoundrel,
by insulting a stranger in this way ? " she cried. "Awav !
My father will know what to do with you."

" Oh, if you please, Miss Coleman, pray say nothing
about it, pray do not mention it to your father ; I do
not know what the consequences will be ; I really meant
nothing ; I really did not " — which was entirely true.

" You who propose to teach religion to people ! I
ought to stop you ; but no, I will not be dragged into
the mud."

A sudden thought struck her. He was shaky, and
was holding on by the table. " I will be silent," she
cried — what a relief it was to him to hear her say that !
" but I will mark you," and before he could comprehend
what she was doing she had seized a little pair of scissors
which lay near her, had caught his wrist, and had
scored a deep cross on the back of the hand. The blood
burst out and she threw him a handkerchief.

194 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" Take that and be gone ! "

He was so amazed and terrified, not only at the sight
of the blood, but at her extraordinary behaviour, that
he turned ghastly white. The pain, however, recalled
him to his senses ; he rolled the handkerchief over the
wound, twisted his own round it too, for the red stain
came through Pauline's cambric, and departed. The
account current in the college was, that he had torn
himself ac^ainst a nail in a fence. The accident was a
little incoivenient on the following Sunday, when he
had to preach at Hogsbridge Corner ; but as he repro-
duced the sermon on the carnal mind, which he knew
pretty well by heart, he was not nervous. He had made
it much simpler, in accordance with the advice given
on a former occasion. He had struck out the metaphysics
and had put in a new head — •" Neither indeed can be."
" The apostle did not merely state a fact that the carnal
mind was not subject to the law of God ; he said,
' Neither indeed can be.' Mark, my brethren, the force
of the neither can."

CHAPTER XXI

The Wisdom of the Serpent

George Allen meanwhile, at Cowfold, languished in
love with Priscilla Broad, who was now a comely girl
of eighteen. Mrs. Broad had, of course, discovered
what was in the wind, and her pride suffered a severe
shock. She had destined Priscilla, as the daughter cf
a Flavel, for a London minister, and that she should
marry a tradesman was intolerable. Worse still, a
tradesman in Cowfold ! What would become of their
influence in the town, she continually argued with Mr.
Broad, if they became connected with a member of
their congregation ? She thought it would be a serious
hindrance to their usefulness. But Mr. Broad was not -
so sure, although he hated the Aliens ; and Priscilla,
somehow or other, was not so sure, for, despite her
mother's constant hints about their vulgarity, she not
infrequently discovered that something was wanted
from the shop, and bought it herself.

One Monday afternoon, Mr. Broad having thrown
the silk handkerchief off his face and bestirred himself
at the sight of the radishes, watercresses, tea, and hot
buttered toast, thus addressed his wife :

" My love, I am not altogether inclined to discounten-
ance the attentions which George pays to Priscilla.
There are so many circumstances to be taken into
account."

" It is a great trouble to me, John, and I really think
if anything of the kind were to happen, at least you

If; 5

196 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

would have to seek another cause. Just consider the
position in which I should stand towards Mrs. Allen.
Besides, I am sure it will interfere with your duties here
if we are obliged to take notice of the Aliens more than
of other people in the town."

" To seek for another cause, my love ? That is a
very grave matter at my time of life. You remember
too, that there is an endowment here."

" Quite so ; and that is the more reason why we should
not permit the attachment."

" But, my love, as I observed, there are so many
circumstances to be taken into account. You know
as well as I do in what aspect I view the Aliens, and
what my sentiments with regard to them are — personally
that is to say, and not as minister of the gospel. Per-
haps Providence, my dear, intends this opportunity
as a means whereby the emotions of my poor sinful
nature^emotions which may have been uncharitable —
may be converted into brotherly love. Then we must
recollect that Isaac is a prominent member of the church
and a deacon. Thirdly, in all probability, if we do not
permit Priscilla to marry George, offence will be taken
and they may withdraw their subscription, which, I
believe, comes altogether to twenty pounds per annum.
Fourthly, the Aliens have been blessed with an unusual
share of worldly prosperity, and George is about to
become a partner. Fifthly and lastly " — Mr. Broad
had acquired a habit of dividing his most ordinary
conversation into heads—" it is by no means improbable
that I may need a co-pastor before long, and we shall
secure the Aliens' powerful influence in favour of
Thomas."

Mrs. Broad felt the full force of these argu-
ments.

" I should think," she added, " that George, after
marriage, cannot live at the shop."

" No, that will not be possible ; they must take a
private house."

So it was agreed, without any reference to the ques-
tion whether Priscilla and George cared for one another.

THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT 197

that no opposition should be offered. The Aliens them-
selves, father and mother, were by no means so eager
for the honour of the match as Mrs. Broad supposed
them to be, for Mrs. Isaac, particularly proud of her
husband, and a little proud of their comfortable business
and their comfortable property, was not dazzled by the
Flavel ancestry.

When George formally asked permission of Mr. Broad
to sanction his addresses, a meeting between the parents
became necessary, and Mrs. Broad called on Mrs. Allen.
She was asked into the dining-room at the back of the
shop. At that time, at any rate in Cowfold, the drawing-
room, which was upstairs, was an inaccessible sanctuary,
save on Sunday and on high tea-party days. Mrs.
Broad looked round at the solid mahogany furniture ;
cast her eyes on the port and sherry standing on the
sideboard, in accordance with Cowfold custom ; ob-
served that not a single thing in the room was worn or
shabby ; that everything was dusted with absolute
nicety, for the Allen's kept two servants ; and became
a little reconciled to her lot.

Mrs. Allen presently appeared in her black silk dress,
with her gold watch hanging in front, and saluted the
minister's wife with the usual good-humoured, slightly
democratic freedom which always annoyed Mrs. Broad.

" My dear Mrs. Allen," began Mrs. Broad, " I have
called to announce to you a surprising piece of intelli-
gence, although I dare say you know it all. Your son
George has asked Mr. Broad to be allowed to consider
himself as Priscilla's suitor. We have discu-ssed the
matter together, and I have come to know what your
views are. I may say that we had destined — hoped —
that — er — Priscilla would find her sphere as a minister's
wife in the metropolis ; but it is best, perhaps, to follow
the leadings of Providence."

" Well, Mrs. Broad, I must say I was a little bit
disappointed myself — to tell you the plain truth ; but
it is of no use to contradict young people in love with
one another."

Mrs. Broad was astonished. Disappointed ! But she

G

198 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

remembered her husband's admonitions. So she con-
tented herself with an insinuation.

" What I meant, my dear Mrs. Allen, v/as that, as
the Flavels have been a ministerial family for so long,
it would have been gratifying to me, of course, if Pris-
cilla had bestowed herself upon — upon somebody
occupying the same position."

" That is just what my mother used to say. I was
a Burton, you remember. They were large tanners in
Northamptonshire, and she did not like my going to a
shop. But you know, Mrs. Broad, you had better be
in a shop and have plenty of everything, and not have
to pinch and screw, than have a brass knocker on your
door, and not be able to pay for the clothes you wear.
That's my behef, at any rate."

The dart entered Mrs. Broad's soul. She remem-
bered some " procrastination " — to use her husband's
favourite word — in settling a draper's bill, even when
it was diminished by the pew rent, and she wondered if
Mrs. Allen knew the facts. Of course she did ; all
Cowfold knew every fact connected with everybody in
the town. She discerned it was best to retreat.

" I wished to tell you, Mrs. Allen, that we do not
intend to offer the least objection " — she thought that
perhaps a little professional unction might reduce h&r
antagonist—" and I am sure I pray that God will bless
their union."

"As I said before, Mrs. Broad, neither shall we
object. We shall let George do as he likes. He is a
real good boy, worth a princess, and if he chooses to
have Miss Broad, we shan't hinder him. She will always
be welcome here, and it will be a consolation to you to
know she will never want anything." Mrs. Allen shook
her silk dress out a little, and offered Mrs. Broad a glass
of wine. Her feelings were a little flustered, and she
needed support, but she refused.

" No thank you, ]Mrs. Allen. I must be going."

CHAPTER XXII

The Oracle Warns — After the Event

It is no part of my business to tell the story of the
love-making between George and Priscilla. Such
stories have been told too often. Every weakness in
her was translated by George into some particularly
attractive virtue. He saw nothing, heard nothing,
which was not to her advantage. Once, indeed, when
he was writing the letter that was for ever to decide
his destin}'^, it crossed his mind that this was an epoch —
a parting of the ways — and he hesitated as he folded
it up. But no warning voice was heard ; nothing smote
him ; he was doing what he believed to be the best ;
he was allowed to go on without a single remonstrant
sign. The messenger was despatched, and his fate was
sealed. His mother and father had held anxious debate.
They believed Priscilla to be silly, and the question was
whether they should tell George so. The more they
reflected on the affair the less they liked it ; but it
was agreed that they could do nothing, and that to
dissuade their son would only embitter him against
them.

" Perhaps," said Mrs. Allen, " when she has a family
she will be better."

Mrs. Allen had a behef that children cured a woman
of many follies.

Nevertheless the mother could not refrain, wh^m she
had to talk to George about his engagement, froai
" letting out " just a word.

J 99

200 THE REVOLUTION IX TANNER'S LANE

" I hope you will be happy, my dear boy. The
great thing is not to ha\-e a fool for a wife. There
has never, to my knowledge, been a woman amongst
the Burtons or the Aliens who was a fool.

George felt notliing at the time, for he suspected
nothmg ; but the word.s somehow remained with him,
and reappeared later on in black intensity hke invisible
writing under heat.

So they were married, and went to live in a cottage,
small, but very respectable, in the Shott Road. For
the first six months both were in bliss. Priscilla was
constantly backwards and forwards to her mother, who
took upon herself at once the whole direction of her
affairs ; but there was no rupture with the Aliens, for,
whatever her other faults might be, Priscilla was not
given to making quarrels, and there was little or no
bitterness or evil temper in her. George came home
after his work was over at the shop, and sometimes
went out to supper with his wife, or read to her the
newspaper, which came once a week. Like his father,
he was an ardent politician, and, from the very begin-
ning of the struggle, an enthusiastic Free Trader. The
Free Trade creed was, indeed, the cause of serious
embarrassment, for not only were the customers agricul-
tural and Protectionist, but the deacons at Tanner's
Lane, being nearly all either farmers or connected with
the land, were also Protectionist, and jSIr. Broad had a
hard time of it. For himself, he expressed no opinion ;
but once, at a deacons' meeting, when it looked as if
some controversy would arise, he begged Brother Allen
to remember that, though we might be wise as serpents,
we were also commanded to be harmless as doves.
There was a small charity connected with the chapel,
which was distributed, not in money, but in bread, and
Brother Allen, not being able to contain himself, bad
let fall a word or two about the price of bread which
would ha\e raised a storm if Mr. Broad had not poured
on the troubled waters that oil of which he was a perfect
reservoir.

George did his best to instruct his wife in the merits

THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER EVENT 201

of the controversy, and when he found anything in his
newspaper read it aloud to her.

" You see, Priscilla," he said one evening, " it stands
to reason that if foreign corn pays a duty, the price of
every quarter grown here is raised, and this increased
price goes into the farmer's or landlord's pocket. Why
should I, or why should m}^ men, pay twopence mox'e
for every loaf to buy Miss Wootton a piano ? "

" Really, George, do you mean to say that they are
going to buy Miss Wootton a piano ? "

" My dear, I said that when they buy a loaf of bread
twopence out of it goes to buy Miss Wootton's piano ! "
repeated George, laying an emphasis on every word.
" I did not mean, of course, that they put their two-
pences in her pocket ? The point is, that the duty
enables Wootton to get more for his corn."

" Well," said Priscilla triumphantly, " I can tell you
she is not going to have a piano. She's going to have a
little organ instead, because she can play tunes better
on an organ, and it's more suitable for her ; so there's
an end of that."

" It doesn't matter whether it is an organ or piano,"
said George, " the principle is the same."

" Well, but you said a piano ; I don't think the
principle is the same. If I were she I would sooner
have the piano."

A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George's face,
and some creases appeared in his forehead ; but he
smoothed them away and laid down his paper.

" Priscilla, put away your work for a moment and
just listen."

Priscilla was making something in the shape of
netting by means of pins and a long loop which was
fastened under her foot.

" I can listen, George ; there is no occasion to put
it away."

" Well then," he answered, placing both his elbows
on the table, and resting his face upon them, " all corn
which comes into this country pays a duty — that you
understand. Consequently it cannot be sold here for

202 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

less than sixty shillings a quarter. Of course, if that
is the case, English wheat is kept up to a higher price
than it would fetch it there was no duty. Therefore
bread is, as I calculate, about twopence a loaf dearer
than it ought to be. And why should it be ? That's
what I want to know."

" I believe," said Priscilla, " we might save a good
bit by baking at home."

" Yes, yes ; but never mind that now. You know
that foreign corn pays a duty. You do know that ? "

" Yes," said Priscilla, because there was nothing else
to be said.

" Well, then, you must see that, if that be so, farmers
can obtain a higher price for English corn."

Poor Priscilla reall}'' did her best to comprehend.
She stopped her knitting for a moment, put her knitting-
pin to her lips, and answered very slo.wly and solemnly
" Ye-es."

" Ah ; but I know when you say ' Ye-es ' like that
you do not understand."

" I do understand," she retorted, with a little asperity.

" Well then, repeat it, and let us see."

" No, I shall not."

" Dear Priscilla. I am not vexed : but I only wanted
to make it quite plain to you. The duty on foreign
corn is a tax in favour of the farmer, or perhaps the
landlord, just as distinctly as if the tax-collector carried
the coin from our till and gave it them."

" Of course it is quite plain," she responded, making
a bold stroke for her life. " Of course it is quite plain
we are taxed " — George's face grew bright, for he
thought the truth had dawned upon her — " because the
farmers have to pay the duty on foreign corn."

He took up his newspaper, held it open so as to cover
his face, was silent for a few minutes, and then, pulling
out his watch, declared it was time to go to bed. She
gathered up her netting, looked at him doubtfully as
she passed, and went upstairs.

The roof of George's house had a kind of depression
or v/ell in the middle of it, whence ran a rainwater pipe.

THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER EVENT 203

which passed down inside, and so, under the floor, to
the soft-water cistern. A bad piece of construction,
thought he, and he wished, if he could have done so, to
improve it ; but there was no way of altering it without
pulling the whole place to pieces. One day, a very
short time after the talk about Free Trade, a fearful
storm of rain broke over Cowfold, and he was startled
by Ellen, his servant, running into the shop and telling
him that the staircase was flooded, and missis wanted him
at once. He put on his coat and was off in a moment.
When he got there Priscilla met him at the door crying,
and in a great fright. The well up aloft was full of
water, and it was pouring in torrents through the little
window. It had gone through the floor of the bedroom
and into the dining-room, puUing down with it about
half the ceiling, which lay in a horrid mess upon the
dining table and the carpet, George saw in an instant
what was the matter. He ran up the steps to the well,
pulled out a quantity of straw and dirt which blocked
up the entrance to the pipe ; the water disappeared in
two minutes, and all further danger was arrested.

" Why on earth," he cried in half a passion, " did
not you think to clear away the rubbish, instead of
wasting yo-ur time in sending for me ? It ought to have
entered into anybody's head to do such a simple thing
as that."

" How was I to know ? " replied Mrs. George. " I
am not an ironmonger. What have I to do with pipes ?
You shouldn't have had such a thing."

Ellen stood looking at the wreck.

" Wc don't want you," said George savagely ; " go
into the kitchen," and he shut the dinmg-room door.
There the husband and wife stood face to face with one
another, with the drip, drip, drip still proceeding, the
ruined plaster, and the spoilt furniture.

" I don't care," he broke out, " one brass farthmg
for it all ; but what I do care for is that you should
not have had the sense to unstop that pipe."

She said nothing, but cried bitterly. At last she sat
down and sobbed out : " O George, George, you are

204 THE REVOLUTION IX TANNER'S LANE

in a rage with me ; you are tired of me ; j^ou are dis-
appointed with me. Oh ! what shall I do, what shall
I do ? " Poor child ! her pretty curls fell over her face
as she covered it with her long white hands. George
was touched with pity in an instant, and his arms were
round her neck. He kissed her fervently, and besought
her not to think anything of what he had said. He took
out his handkerchief, wiped her eyes tenderly, lifted one
of her arms and put it round his neck as he pulled a
chair towards him and sat down beside her. Nothing
she loved like caresses ! She knew what their import
was, though she could not follow his economical logic,
and she clung to him, and buried her face on his shoulder.
At that moment, as he drew her heavy brown tresses
over him, smothered his eyes and mouth in them, and
then looked down through them on the white, sweet
beauty they shadowed, he forgot or overlooked every-
thing, and was once more completely happy.

Suddenly she released herself. " What shall we do
to-night, George, the bedroom will be so damp ? "

He recovered himself, and admitted that they could
not sleep there. There was the spare bedroom ; but
the wet had come in there too.

" I will sleep at father's, and you sleep at home too.
We will have fires alight, and we shall be dry enough
to-morrow. You be off now, my dear ; I will see about
it all."

So George had the fires alight, got in a man to help
him, and they swept and scoured and aired till it was
dark. In a day or two the plasterer could mend the
ceiling.

Priscilla had left, and, excepting the servant, who
was upstairs, George was alone. He looked round,
walked about— what was it ? Was he tired ? It could
not be that ; he was never tired. He left as soon as he
could and went back to the shop. After telling the tale
of the calamity which had befallen him he announced —
it was now supper-time — that he was going to stay all
night. Mother, father, and sister were delighted to have
him — " It looked like old times again ; " but George was

THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER EVENT 205

not in much of a mood for talking, and at ten o'clock
went upstairs ; his early departure being, of course, set
down to the worry he had gone through. He turned
into bed. Generally speaking he thought no more of
sleep than he did of breathing ; it came as naturally as
the air into his lungs ; but what was this new experience ?
Half an hour, an hour, after he had laid down he was
still awake, and worse than awake ; for his thoughts
were of a different cast from his waking thoughts ; fear-
ful forebodings ; a horror of great darkness. He rose
and bathed his head in cold water, and lay down again ;
but it was of no use, and he walked about his room.
What an epoch is the first sleepless night — the night
when the first wrench has been given us by the Destinies
to loosen us from the love of life ; when we have first
said to ourselves that there are worse things than
death !

George's father always slept well, but the mother
stirred at the slightest sound. She heard her boy on
the other side of the wall pacing to and fro, and she
slipped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went
to listen. Presently she knocked gently.

" George, my dear, aren't you well ?

" Yes, mother ; nothing the matter."

" Let me in."

He let her in, and sat down. The moon shone brightly,
and there was no need for any other light.

The mother came and sat beside her child.

" George, my dear, there is something on you mind ?
What is it ?— tell me."

" Nothing, mother ; nothing indeed."

She answered by taking his cold hand in both her own
and putting it on her lap. Presently he disengaged
himself and went to the window. She sat still for a
moment, and followed him. She looked up in his face ;
the moonlight was full upon it ; there was no moisture
in his eyes, but his lips quivered. She led him away,
and got him to sit down again, taking his hand as before,
but speaking no word. Suddenly, without warning,
his head was on his mother's bosom, and he was weeping

2o6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

as if his heart would break. Another first experience
to him and to her ; the first time he had ever wept
since he was a child and cried over a fall or because it
was dark. She supported that heavy head with the
arm which had carried him before he could walk alone ;
she kissed him, and her tears flowed with his ; but still
she was silent. There was no reason why she should
make further inquiry ; she knew it all. By themselves
there they remained till he became a little calmer, and
then he begged her to leave him. She wished to stay,
but he would not permit it, and she withdrew. When
she reached her bedroom her husband was still asleep,
and although she feared to wake him, she could no longer
contain herself, and falling on her knees with her face
in the bedclothes, so that she might not be heard, she
cried to her Maker to have mercy on her child. She
was not a woman much given to religious exercises, but
she prayed that night such a prayer as had not been
prayed in Tanner's Lane since its foundation was laid.
For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and
cleave to his wife ? Ah, yes ! he does leave them ;
but in his heart does he never go back ? And if he
never does, does his mother ever leave him ?

In the morning Mrs. Allen was a little pale, and was
asked by her husband if she was unwell, but she held
her peace. George, too, rose, went about his work, and
in the afternoon walked up to the cottage to meet his
wife there. She was bright and smiling, and had a
thousand things to tell him about what her mamma
said, and how mamma hoped that the nasty pipe would
be altered and never ought to have been there ; and
how she was coming after tea to talk to him, and how
she herself, Priscilla, had got a plan.

" What is it ? " said George.

" Why, I would put a grating, or something, over the
pipe, so that it shouldn't get stopped up."

" But if the grating got stopped up that would be
just as bad."

" Well then, I wouldn't have a well there at all. Why
don't you cover it over ? "

THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER EVENT 207

" But what are you to do with the window ? You
cannot block out the light."

So Priscilla's " plans," as she called them, were
nothing. And though George had a plan which he
thought might answer, he did not consult her about it.

CHAPTER XXIII

Further Development

Six months afterwards Priscilla was about to give birth
to her first-born. At Mrs. Allen's earnest request old
nurse Barton had been engaged, who nursed Mrs. Allen
when George came into the world, and loved him like
her own child. As a counterpoise, Mrs. Broad, who
had desired a nurse from a distance, whom she knew,
installed herself with Priscilla. Nurse Barton had a
great dislike to Mrs. Broad, although she attended Mr.
Broad's ministrations at Tanner's Lane. She was not
a member of the church, and never could be got to
propose herself for membership. There was, in fact,
a slight flavour of Paganism about her. She was con-
sidered to belong to the " world," and it was only her
age and undoubted skill which saved her practice
amongst the Tanner's Lane ladies. There was a rival
in the town ; but she was a younger woman, and never
went out to any of the respectable houses, save when
Mrs. Barton was not available.

The child was safely born, and as soon as nurse Barton
could be spared for an hour or two she went to Mrs.
Allen, whom she found alone. The good woman then
gave Mrs. Allen her opinions, which, by the way, she
always gave with prefect frankness.

" Thank the Lord-i-mercy this 'ere job, Mrs. Allen,
is near at an end. If it 'adn't been my dear boy George's
wife, never would I have set foot in that 'ouse."

" Why not ? "

208

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT 209

" Why not ? Xow, Mrs. Allen, you know as well as
I do. To see that there Mrs. Broad ! She might 'ave
ordered me about ; that wouldn't a been nothin' ; but
to see 'er a orderin' 'im, and a ridin' on 'im like a wooden
rockin'-'orse, and with no more feelin' ! A nasty,
prancin', 'igh-'eaded creatur'. Thinks I to myself, often
and often, if things was different I'd let yer know, that
I would ; but I 'eld my tong.' It 'ud a been wuss for
us all, p'r'aps, if I 'adn't."

" I should think so," said Mrs. Allen ; " remember
she is the minister's wife,"

" Minister's wife ! " repeated Mrs. Barton, and with
much scorn. " And then them children of hern. Lord
be praised I never brought such things as them into
the world. That was her fine nuss as she must get
down from London ; and pretty creaturs they are ! "

" Hush, hush ; George has one of them, and she is
mine."

" I can't 'elp it, ma'am, I must speak out. I saj'^ as
he ought to 'ave married somebody better nor 'er ,.
though I don't mind a tellin' of yer she's the best of the
lot. Why did the Lord in heaven, as sent Jesus Christ
to die for our souls, let my George 'ave such a woman as
that ? What poor silly creaturs we all are ! " and the
old woman, bending her head down, shook it mournfully
and rubbed her knees with her hand. She was thinking
of him as he lay in her lap years and years ago, and
pondering, in her disconnected, incoherent way, over the
mysteries which are mysteries to us as much as to her.

Mrs. Broad, who was in constant attendance upon
Priscilla, at the very earliest moment pronounced the
baby a Flavel, and made haste to tell father and mother
so. There was no mistaking a refinement, so to say, in
the features and an expression in the eye. George, of
course, was nearl}^ banished for a time, and was much
with his father and mother. At length, however, the
hour arrived when the nurse took her departure, and,
Mrs. Broad having also somewhat retired, he began to
see a little more of his wife ; but it was very little. She
was altogether shut up in maternal cares — closed round.

210 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

apparently, from the whole world. He was not alto-
gether displeased, but he did at times think that she
might give him a moment now and then, especially as
he was greatly interested in the coming county election.
It was rather too early in the day for a Free Trader to
stand as a candidate, but two Whigs, of whom they had
great hopes, had been put up, and both George and his
father were most energetic in canvassing and on com-
mittees.

Mr. Broad had decided not to vote. He did not deny
that his sj^mpathies were not with the Tories, but as a
minister of religion it would be better for him to remain
neutral. This annoyed the Aliens and damaged their
cause. At a meeting held by the Tories one of the
speakers called upon the audience to observe that all the
respectable people, with very few exceptions, were on
their side. " Why," cried he, " I'll bet you, my friends,
all Lombard Street to a cliina orange that they don't get
even the Dissenting parson to vote for the Radicals. Of
course he won't, and why ? Just because he's a cut
above his congregation, and knows a little more than
they do, and belongs to the intelligent classes."

George bethought himself that perhaps he might do
something through Priscilla to influence her mother, and
he determined to speak to her about it. He came home
one evening after attending a committee, and found
supper ready. Priscilla was downstairs, sitting with the
door open.

" Hadn't we better shut the door ? " said George ;
" it is rather cold."

" No, no, George ; I shouldn't hear the baby."

" But Ellen is upstairs."

" Yes ; but then she might go to sleep."

" My dear," began George, " I wish your father could
be got to vote straight. You see that by not doing so
he goes against all the principles of the Independents.
Ever since they have been in existence they have always
stood up for freedom, and we are having the large yellow
flag worked with the words, ' Civil and Religious Liberty.
It will be a bad thing for us if he holds aloof. I cannot

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT 211

understand," he continued, getting eloquent, " how a
Dissenting minister can make up his mind not to vote
against a party which has been answerable for all the
oppression and all the wrongs in English history, and
for all our useless wars, and actually persecuted his
predecessors in this very meeting-house in which he now
preaches. Besides, to say nothing about the past, just
look at what we have before us now. The Tories are
the most bitter opponents of Free Trade. I can't tell
you how I feel about it, and I do think that if you were
to speftk to your mother she would perhaps induce him to
change his mind."

It was a long time since he had said so much all at ones
to his wife.

" George, George, I am sure he's awake ! " and she
was off out of the room in an instant. Presently she
returned.

" Mamma came here this afternoon and brought his
hood — a new one — such a lovely hood ! — and she says
he looks more than ever like a Flavel in it."

" I don't believe you listened to a word of what I was
saying."

" Oh yes, I did ; you always think I don't listen ; but
I can listen to you and watch for him too."

" What did I say ? "

" Never mind, I know."

" I cannot understand," he said sullenly, and diverted
for a moment from his subject, why mamma should be
always telling you he is a Flavel."

" Well, really, George, why shouldn't she ? Tryphosa
said the other day that if you were to take away grand-
papa Flavel's wig and bands from the picture in the
Evangelical Magazine he would be just like him."

" It seems to me," replied George, " that if there's
any nonsense going about the town, it always comes to
you. People don't talk such rubbish to me."

What the effect of this speech miglit have been cannot
be told, for at this moment the baby did really cry, and
Priscflla departed hastily for the night. She never spoke
to her mother about the election, for, as George suspected,

212 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

she had not paid the shghtest attention to him ; and as
to exchanging with her mother a single word upon such
a subject as pohtics, or upon any other subject which was
in any way impersonal, — she never did such a thing in
her hfe.

It was the uniform practice of the Reverend John
Broad to walk down the main street of Cowfold on
Monday morning, and to interchange a few words with
any of his congregation whom he might happen to meet.
This pastoral perambulation not oniy added importance
to him, and made him a figure in Cowfold, but, coming
always on Monday, served to give people some notion
of a preoccupation during the other days of the week
which was forbidden, for mental reasons, on the day
after Sunday. On this particular Monda}^ Mr. Broad
was passing Mr. Allen's shop, and seeing father and son
there, went in. Mr. Allen himself was at a desk which
stood near the window, and George was at the counter,
in a black apron, weighing nails.

After an unimportant remark or two about the
weather, Mr. Allen began in a cheery tone, so as to
prevent offence :

" Mr. Broad, we are sorry we cannot persuade you to
vote for the good cause."

Mr. Broad's large mouth lengthened itself, and his
little eyes had an unpleasant light in them.

" Brother Allen, I have made this matter the subject
of much meditation, and I may even say of prayer, and
I have come to the conclusion it will be better for me to
occupy a neutral position."

" Why, Mr. Broad ? You cannot doubt on which side
the right lies."

" No ; but then there are so many things to be con-
sidered, so many responsibilities ; and my first care, you
see, must be the ministerial office and the chhrch which
Providence has placed in my charge."

" But, Mr. Broad, there are only two or three of them
who are Tory."

" Only old Bushel and another farmer or two," inter-
rupted George.

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT 213

Mr. Broad looked severely at George, but did not
condescend to answer him.

" Those two or three, Brother Allen, require considera-
tion as much as ourselves. Brother Bushel is, I may
say, a pillar of the cause, a most faithful follower of the
Lord ; and what are political questions compared with
that ? How could I justify myself if my liberty were to
become a stumbling-block to my brother. The house
of God without Brother Bushel to give out the hymns
on Sunday would, I am sure, not be the same house of
God to any of us."

" But, Mr. Broad, do you think he will be so silly as
to be offended because you exercise the same right which
he claims for himself ?

" Ah, Brother Allen— offended ! You remember, no
doubt, the text, ' Wherefore, if meat make my brother
to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world
standeth.'

It is a very good thing to have at one's elbow a Bible
of rules for our guidance ; but unfortunately we relieve
ourselves very often of the most necessary inquiry
whether the rule applies to the particular case in hand.
Mr. Allen had the greatest possible respect for St. Paul,
but he felt sure the apostle was where he had no business
to be just at that particular moment. George also saw
the irrelevance of the quotation, and discerned exactly
where it did not fit.

" Mr. Broad, I am sure I don't pretend to know what
St. Paul thought as well as you do— of course not— but
do you think that voting is like eating meat ? Is it not
a duty to express our convictions on such questions as
those now before the country ? It didn't much matter
whether a man ate meat which had been offered to an
idol or not, but it does matter how we arc governed."

Mr. Broad turned round on George, and smiled with
a smile which was certainly not a sign of affection, but
otherwise did not notice him.

" Well, Mr. Broad," continued Mr. Allen, all I can
say is, I regret it ; and I am sure you will excuse nic if I
also say that we too deserve some consideration. \ ou

214 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

forget that your refusal to declare yourself may be a
stumbling-block to us."

" I hope not, I hope not. George, how is Priscilla, and
how is her child ? Are they both quite well ? " and with
a pontifical benediction the minister moved away. When
he got home he consulted the oracle ; not on his knees,
but sitting in his arm-chair ; that is to say, Mrs. Broad
at the Monday afternoon tea, and she relieved his anxiety.
There was no fear of any secession on the part of the
Aliens, connected as they were with them through
Priscila. On the other hand. Brother Bushel, although
he gave out the hymns, had already had a quarrel with
the .singing pew because they would not more frequently
perform a tune with a solo for the double bass, which he
always accompanied with his own bass voice, and Mr.
Broad had found it difficult to restore peace ; the flute
and clarionet justly urging that they never had solos,
and why the double bass, who only played from ear, and
not half as many notes as they played, should be allowed
to show off they didn't know. Mr. Bushel, too, contri-
buted ten pounds a year to the cause, and Piddingfold
Green Chapel was but a mile farther off from him than
Cowfold. There were allies of the Aliens in Tanner's
Lane, no doubt ; but none of them would be likely to
desert so long as the Aliens themselves remained. There-
fore Providence seemed to point out to Mr. and Mrs.
Broad that their course was clear.

CHAPTER XXIV

" I Came Not to Send Peace, But a Sword "

M:<. Allen, having business in London, determined to
g) 0 1 Saturday, and spend the next day with Zachariah.
Although he always called on his old friend whenever he
could do so, he was not often away from home on a Sun-
day. He also resolved to take George with him. Ac-
cordingly on Saturday morning they were up early and
caught a coach on the North Road. The coaches by this
time had fallen off considerably, for the Birmingliam
railway was open, and there was even some talk of a
branch through Cowfold ; but there were still perhaps a
dozen which ran to places a good way east of the line.
Father and son dismounted at the " George and Blue
Boar," where they were to sleep. Sunday was to be
spent with the Colemans, whom George had seen before
but very seldom ; never, indeed, since he was a boy.

Zachariah still went to Pike Street Chapel, but only in
the morning to hear Mr. Bradshaw, who wa,s now an old
man, and could not preach twice. On that particular
Sunday on which Zachariah, Pauline, Mr. Allen, and
George heard him he took for his text the thirteenth
verse of the twelfth chapter of Deuteronomy : " Take
heed to thyself that thou offer not thy burnt offerings
in every place thou seest." He put down his spectacles
after he had read these words, for he never used a note,
and said : " If your religion doesn't help you, it is no
religion for you ; you had better be without it. I don't
mean if it doesn't help you to a knowlcdje of a future

2li

2i6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

life or of the way to heaven. Everybody will say his
religion does that. What I do mean is, that the sign of a
true religion — true for you, is this — Does it assist you
to bear your own private difficulties ? — does it really ? —
not the difficulties of the schools and theology, but those
of the parlour and countinghouse ; ay, difficulties most
difficult, those with persons nearest to you ? . . . Every-
body aught to have his own religion. In one sense we are
all disciples of Christ, but nevertheless each man has
troubles peculiar to himself, and it is absurd to expect
that any book system will be sufficient for each one of us
at all points. You must make your own religion, and
it is only what you make yourself which will be of any
use to you. Don't be disturbed if you find it is not of
much use to other persons. Stick to it yourself if it is
really your own, a bit of yourself. There are, however,
in the Book of God universal truths, and the wonderful
thing about them is, that they are at the same time more
particularly adapted to you and me and all our inner-
most wants than anything we can discover for ourselves.
That is the miracle of inspiration. For thousands and
thousands of years some of the sayings here have com-
forted those who have well nigh despaired in the desert
of the world. The wisdom of millions of apostles, of
heroes, of martyrs, of poor field labourers, of solitary
widows, of orphans, of the destitute, of men driven to
their last extremity, has been the wisdom of this volume
--not their own, and yet most truly theirs. . . . Here
is a word for us this morning : ' Take heed to thyselj that
thou offer not thy burnt offerings in every place thou seest.'
Ah, what a word it is ! You and I are not idolaters,
and there is no danger of our being so. For you and me
this is not a warning against idolatry. What is it for us
then ? Reserve yourself ; discriminate in your worship.
Reserve yourself, I say ; but what is the implication.
What says the next verse ? ' In the place which the Lord
shall choose ; ' that is to say, keep your worship for the
Highest. Do not squander yourself, but, on the other
hand, before the shrine of the Lord offer all your love and
adoration. What a practical application this has ! . . .

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 217

I desire to come a little closer to you. What are the con-
sequences of not obeying this Divine law ? You will not
be struck dead nor excommunicated, you will be simply
disappointed. Your burnt offering will receive no an-
swer ; you will not be blessed through it ; you will come
to see that you have been pouring forth your trcasuic,
and something worse, your heart's blood — not the blood
of cattle — before that which is no God — a nothing, in fact.
' Vanity of vanities,' you will cry, ' all is vanity.' My
young friends, young men and young women, you are
particularly prone to go wrong in this matter. You not
only lay your possessions but yourselves on altars by the
roadside."

It was the first time George had ever heard anything
from any public speaker which came home to him, and
he wondered if Mr. Bradshaw knew his history. He
interpreted the discourse after his own way, and Priscilla
was ever before him.

They came back to the little house, and sat down to
dinner in the little front room. There were portraits
on the walls — nothing else but portraits — and the
collection at first sight was inconsistent. Major Cart-
wright was still there ; there were also Byron, Bunyan,
Scott, Paine, Burns, Mr. Bradshaw, and Rousseau.
It was closely expressive of its owners. Zachariah and
Pauline were private persons ; they were, happily for
them, committed to ndthing, and were not subsidised
by their reputations to defend a system. They were
consequently free to think at large, and if they admired
both Bunyan and Rousseau, they were at liberty to do
so. Zachariah, in a measure, and a very large measure,
had remained faithful to his earliest beliefs— who is
there that does not ?— and although they had been
modified, they were still there ; and he listened to Mr.
Bradshaw with the faith *of thirty years ago. He also
believed in a good many things he had learned without
him, and perhaps the old and the new were not so dis-
cordant as at first sight they might have seemed to be.
He was not, in fact, despite all his love of logic, the
" ves or no " from which most people cannot escape.

2iS THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

but a " yes and no " ; not immorally and through lack
of resolution, but by reason of an original receptivity
and the circumstances of his training. If he had been
merely a student the case would have been different ;
but he was not a student. He was a journeyman
printer ; and hard work has a tendency to demolish
the distinctions of dialectics. He had also been to
school outside his shop, and had learned many
lessons, often confusing and apparently contradictory.
Blanketeer marches ; his first wife ; the workhouse ;
imprisonment ; his second wife ; the little Pauline, had
each come to him with its own special message, and
the net result was a character, but a character dis-
appointing to persons who prefer men and women of
linear magnitude to those of three dimensions.

After dinner the conversation turned upon politics,
and Mr. Allen described bis interview with Mr. Broad,
regretting that the movement in the district round
Cowfold would receive no countenance from the minister
of the very sect which ought to be its chief support.

" A sad falling off," said Zachariah, " from the days,
even in my time, when the Dissenters were the insurrec-
tionary class. Mr. Bradshaw, last Sunday, after his
sermon, shut his Bible, and told the people that he did
not now interfere much in political matters ; but he
felt he should not be doing his duty if he did not tell
those whom he taught which way they ought to vote,
and that what he had preached to them for so many
years would be poor stuff if it did not compel them
into a protest against taxing the poor for the sake of the
rich."

" Yes," replied Mr. Allen ; " but then Broad never
has taught what Bradshaw teaches ; he never seems
to me to see anything clearly ; at least he never makes me
see anything clearly ; the whole world is in a fog to him."

" From what I have heard of Mr. Broad," said Pauline,

I should think the explanation of him is very simple ;
he is a hypocrite — an ordinary hypocrite. What is the
use of going out of the way to seek for explanations of
puch commonplace persons ? "

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 219

" Pauline, Pauline," cried Zachariah, " you surely
forget, my child, in whose company you are ! "

" Oh, as for that," said George, " Miss Coleman
needn't mind me. I haven't married Mr. Broad, and
my father is quite right. For that matter, 1 believe
Miss Coleman is right too."

" Well," said Mr. Allen, " it is rather strong to say a
man is an ordinary hypocrite, and it is not easy to
prove it."

" Not easy to prove it," said Pauline, shifting a little
in her chair and looking straight at Mr. Allen, with
great earnestness ; " hypocrisy is the one thing easiest
to prove. I can tell whether a man is a hypocrite before
I know anything else about him. I may not for a long
time be able to say what else he may be, but before he
speaks, almost, I can detect whether he is sincere."

" You women," said Zachariah, with a smile, " or
you girls rather, are so positive. Just as though the
world were divided like the goats and the sheep in the
gospel. That is a passage that I never could quite
understand. I never, hardly, see a pure breed either
of goat or sheep. I never see anybody who deserves
to go straight to heaven or who deserves to go straight
to hell. When the judgment day comes it will be a
difficult task. Why, Pauline, my dear, I am a humbug
myself."

" Ah well, I have heard all that before ; but, never-
theless, what I say is true. Some men, using speech as
God meant men to use it, are liars, and .some are not.
Of course not entirely so, nor at all times. We cannot
speak mere truth ; we are not made to speak it. For
all that you are not a liar."

"Anyhow, I shall go on," said Mr. Allen. "We
shall have a desperate fight, and shall most likely lose ;
but no Tory shall sit for our county if 1 can
help it." ,

" Of course you will go on," said Zachariah. So
shall I go on. We are to have a meeting in Clerkcn-
well to-morrow night, although, to tell you the truth.
I don't feel exactly the interest in the struggle which

220 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

I did in those of five-and-twenty years ago, when we
had to whisper our treasons to one another in locked
rooms and put sentries at the doors. You know nothing
about those times, George."

" I wish I had," said George, with an unusual passion,
which surprised his father and caused Pauline to lift
her eyes from the table and look at him. " I only wish
I had. I can't speak as father can, and I often say to
myself I should like to take myself off to some foreign
country where men get shot for what they call con
spiracy. If I knew such a country I half believe I
would go to-morrow."

" Which means," said Pauline, " that there would be
an end of you and your services. If you care anything
for a cause, you can do something better than get shot
for it ; and if you want martyrdom, there is a nobler
martyrdom than death. The Christians who were
trundled in barrels with spikes in them deserve higher
honour than those who died in a moment, before they
could recant. The highest form of martyrdom, though,
is not even living for the sake of a cause, but Hving
without one, merely because it is your duty to live.
If you are called upon to testify to a great truth, it is
easy to sing in flames. Yes, yes, Mr. George, the saints
whom I would canonise are not martyrs for a cause,
but those who have none."

George thought that what Pauline said — just as he
had thought of Mr. Bradshaw's sermon — seemed to be
said for him ; and yet what did she know about him ?
Nothing. He was silent. All were silent, for it is
difficult to follow anybody who pitches the conversation
at so high a level ; and Zachariah, who alone could
have maintained it, was dreaming over his lost Pauline
and gazifig on the sacred pictures which were hung in
the chamber of his heart. Just at that moment he was
looking at the one of his wife as a girl ; the room in
which he was sitting had gone ; he was in the court
near Fleet Street ; she had cleared the space for the
dance ; she had begun, and he was watching her with
all the passion of his youth. The conversation gradu-

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 221

ally turned to something more indifferent, and the
company broke up.

On the Monday George and his father went home.
It is very depressing, after being with people who
have been at their best, and with whom we have been
at our best, to descend upon ordinary existence. George
felt it particularly as he stood in the shop on Tuesday
morning and reflected that for the whole of that day —
for his father was out — he should probably not say
nor hear a word for which he cared a single straw. But
there was to be an election meeting that evening, and
Mr. Allen was to speak, and George, of course, must be
there. The evening came, and the room at the
Mechanics' Institute, which had just been established
in Cowfold, was crowded. Admission was not by ticket,
so that, though the Whigs had convened it, there was a
strong muster of the enemy. Mr. Allen moved the
first resolution in a stirring speech, which was con-
stitutionally interrupted with appeals to him to go
home and questions about a grey mare — " How about
old Pinfold's grey mare ? " — which seemed conclusive
and humorous to the la.st degree. Old Pinfold was
a well-known character in Cowfold, horse-dealer, pig-
jobber, attendant at races, with no definite occupation,
and the grey mare was an animal which he managed
to impose upon Mr. Allen, who sued him and lost.
When Mr. Allen's resolution had been duly seconded,
one Rogers, a publican, got up and said he had something
to say. There was indescribable confusion, some
crying, " Turn him out ; " others " Pitch into 'em.
Bill." Bill Rogers was well known as the funny man
in Cowfold, a half-drunken buffoon, whose wit, such as
it was, was retailed all over the place ; a man who was
specially pleased if he could be present in any assembly
collected for any serious purpose and turn it into ridicule.
He got upon a chair, not far from where George sat.
but refused to go upon the platform. " No, thank ycr
my friends, I'm best down here ; up there's the place
for the gentlefolk, the clever uns, them as buy grey
mares!" — (roars of laughter) — "but, Mr. Chairman,

222 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

with your permission " — -and here Bill put his hat
upon his chest and made a most profound bow to the
chair, which caused more laughter — " there is just one
question I should like to ask — ^not about the grey
mare, sir " — (roars of laughter again) — " but I see a
young gentleman here beknown to us all " — (pointing
to George) — " and I should just like to ask him, does
his mother-in-law — not his mother, you observe, sir —
does his mother-in-law know he's out ? " Once more
there was an explosion, for Mr. Broad's refusal to take
part in the contest was generally ascribed to Mrs. Broad.
George sat still for a moment, hardly realising his
position, and then the blood rose to his head ; he
crashed across the forms, and before the grin had
settled into smoothness on Bill's half-intoxicated
features there was a grip like that of a giant on his
greasy coat collar ; he was dragged amidst shouts and
blows to the door, George nothing heeding, and dis-
missed with such energy that he fell prostrate on the
pavement. His friends had in vain attempted to stop
George's wrathful progress ; but they were in a
minority.

Next Saturday a report of the scene appeared in
the county newspaper, giving full particulars, con-
siderably exaggerated ; and Mr. Broad read all about
it to Mrs. Broad on Saturday afternoon, in the interval
between the preparation of his two sermons. He had
heard the story on the following day ; but here was
an authentic account in print. Mrs. Broad was of
opinion that it was shocking ; so vulgar, so low ; her
poor dear Priscilla, and so forth. Mr. Broad's sullen
animosity was so much stimulated that it had overcome
his customary circumspection, and on the Sunday
evening he preached from the text, " Pure religion and
undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit
the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to
keep himself unspotted from the world." Mr. Broad
remarked that the Apostle James made no mention here
of the scheme of redemption ; not because that was not
the chief part of religion, but because he was considering

KOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 223

religion in the aspect — he was very fond of this word
" aspect "■ — which it presented to those outside the
Church. He called upon his hearers to reflect with him
for a few moments, in the first place, upon what religion
was not ; secondly, upon what it was ; and thirdly,
he would invite their attention to a few practical
conclusions. He observed that religion did not consist
in vain strife upon earthly matters, which only tended
towards divisions in the Body of Christ. " At such a
time as this, my brethren, it is important for us to
remember that these disputes, especially if they arc
conducted with unseemly heat, are detrimental to the
interests of the soul and give occasion to the enemy
to blaspheme." When Mr. Broad came to the secondly,
and to that sub-division of it which dealt with freedom
from worldly spots, he repeated the words with some
emphasis, " ' Unspotted from the world.' Think, my
friends, of what this involves. Spots ! The world
spots and stains ! We are not called upon to withdraw
ourselves from the world — the apostle does not say
that — but to keep ourselves unspotted, uncontaminated
he appears to mean, by worldly influence. The word
unspotted in the original bears that interpretation —
uncontaminated. Therefore, though we must be in
the world, we are not to be 0/ the world, but to set an
example to it. In the world ! Yes. my brethren, wc
must necessarily be in the world ; that is the condition
imposed upon us by the Divine Providence, because
we are in a state of probation ; we arc so constituted,
with a body, and with fleshly appetites, that wc must
be in the world ; but we must be separate from it and
its controversies, which are so unimportant compared
with our eternal welfare."

Mr. Bushel sat on high at his desk, where he gave
out the hymns, and coughed every now and tlien,
and looked straight at the pew where the Aliens and
George sat. Mr. Bushel knew well enough that, althougli
he was just as ardent on the other side, the sermon vriis
not meant for him, and not one of Mr. Broad's remarks
touched him. He thought only of the Aliens, and

224 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

rejoiced inwardly. George walked home with Priscilla
in silence. At supper-time he suddenly said :

I think your father might have found something
better to do than preach at me."

Priscilla was shocked. She had never heard a
criticism on her father before.

Really, George, what are you thinking of to talk
in that way about a sermon, and on a Sunday night
too ? "

" He did preach at me ; and if he has anything to
say against me, why doesn't he come and say it here or
at the shop ? "

" O George, this is dreadful ! Besides, mamma
did come and talk to me."

" What has that got to do v/ith it ? Well, what
did your mother say ? "

" Why, she told me all about this meeting, and
how you fought a man and nearly killed him, and you
a member at Tanner's Lane, and how you oughtn't
to have been there at all, and what Mr. Bushel was
going to do."

" Oughtn't to have been there at all ? Why not ?
I don't believe you know any more than this table
why I was there."

" Oh yes, I do. You never tell me anything, but
Mrs. Bushel told me. You want to get them all turned
out of their farms."

" Bosh ! There you are again ! — the pains I took
the other n'v^ht again to make you comprehend what
Free Trade meant. I knew you didn't understand
a word about it ; and if you did understand, you
wouldn't believe me. You never take any notice of
anything I say ; but if Mrs. Bushel or any other block-
head tells you an>i;hing, you believe that directly."

Priscilla's eyes filled ; she took out her handkerchief,
and went upstairs. George sat still for a while, and
then followed her. He found her sitting by the baby's
cradle, her head on her hands and sobbing. It touched
him beyond measure to see how she retreated to her
child, he went to her ; his anger was once more for-

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 235

gotten, and once more he was reconciled with kisses
and self-humiUation. The next morning, however, as
he went to the square, the conversation of the niglit
before returned to him. " What does it all mean ? "
he cried to himself. " Would to God it were either
one thing or another ! I could be happy if I really
cared for her, and if I hated her downright I could
endure it like any other calamity which cannot be
altered ; but this is more than I can bear ! "

The Aliens, father and mother, held anxious debate
whether they should take any notice of the attack by
their pastor, and in the end determined to do nothing.
They considered, and rightly considered, that any
action on their part would only make George's posi-
tion more difficult, and he was the lirst person to be
considered.

Next Saturday there was some business to be done
in London, and George went, this time by himself. On
the Sunday morning he called on the Colcmans, and
found Zachariah at home, but Pauline away. Mr.
Bradshaw, too, was not to preach that day. It was
wet, and Zachariah and George sat and talked, first
about the election, and then about other indifferent
subjects. Conversation — even of the best, and between
two friends — is poor work when one of the two suffers
from some secret sorrow which he cannot reveal, and
George grew weary. Zachariah knew what was the
matter with him, and had known it for a long while,
but was too tender to hint his knowledge. Nev^erthe-
less, remembering his own history, he pitied the poor
boy exceedingly. He loved him as his own child, for
his father's sake, and loved him all the more for an
experience so nearly resembling another which he
recollected too well.

" How is it Mr. Bradshaw is not preaching to-day ? "
said George.

" He is ill ; I am afraid he is breaking up ; and
latterly he has been worried by the small attacks made
upon him by people who are afraid to say anything
distinctly."

225 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" What kind of attacks ? "

" Well, they insinuate that he is Arian."

" What is that ? "

Zachariah explained the case as well as he could, and
George was much interested.

" Arian or not, I tell you one tiling, Mr. Colemap,
that Ml. Bradsh i.w, whenever I have heard liim, ssens
to help me as --.Ir. Broad never does. I never think
about what Mr. Broad says except when I am in chapel,
and sometimes not then."

" Bradshaw speaks from himself. He said a thing
last Sunday which stuck by me, and would have pleased
a country lad like you more than it did three parts of
his congregation, who are not so familiar with country
life as he is. He told us he was out for a holiday, and
saw some men hoeing in a field — ' Hoeing the charlock,'
he said to himself ; but when he came nearer he found
they were hoeing turnips — hoeing up the poor plants
themselves, which lay dying all around ; hoeing them
up to let the other plants have room to grow.

" I have known men," added Zachariah after a pause,
" from whose life so much — all love, for example— has
been cut out ; and the effect has been, not ruin, but a
growth in other directions which we should never have
seen without it."

Zachariah took down a little book from his shelf,
and wrote George's name in it.

" There, my boy, it is not much to look at, but I
know nothing better, and keep it always in your pocket.
It is the Imitation of Christ. You will find a good deal
in it which will suit you, and you will say, as I have
said a thousand times over it, that other people may
write of science or pliilosophy, but this man writes
about me."

He put it on the table, and George opened it at the
sentence, " He that can best tell how to suffer will best
keep himself in peace. That man is conqueror of himself,
and lord of the world, the friend of Christ, and the heir of
heaven." He turned over the leaves again — " He to
whom the Eternal Word speaketh is delivered from a

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 227

world of unnecessary conceptions." Zachariah bent his
head near him and gently expounded the texts. As
the exposition grew George's heart dilated, and he was
carried beyond his troubles. It was the birth in hini
— even in him, a Cowfold ironmonger, not a scholar by
any means^of what philosophers call the idea, that
Incarnation, which has ever been our Redemption,
He said nothing to Zachariah about his own affairs,
nor did Zachariah, as before observed, say anything
to him ; but the two knew one another, and felt that
they knew one another as intimately as if George had
imparted to his friend the minutest details of his un-
happiness with his wife.

Towards the end of the afternoon Pauline returned,
and inquired how the battle went in Cowfold.

" I am afraid we shall be beaten. Sometimes I don't
seem to care much about it."

" Don't care ! Why not ? "

" Oh, we talk and talk, father and I, and somehow
people's minds are made up without talking, and nobody
ever changes. When we have our meetings, who is it
who comes ? Does Bushel come ? Not a bit of it.
We only get our own set."

" Well," said Zachariah, the old man's republican
and revolutionary ardour returning, " this is about
the only struggle in which I have felt much interest of
late years. I should like to have cheap bread, and
what is more, I should like to deprive the landlords of
that bit of the price which makes the bread dear. 1
agree with you, my boy. Endless discussion is all very
well — forms ' public opinion,' they say ; but I wish a
stop could be put to it when it has come round to wlicrc
it began ; that one side could say to the other, ' You
have heard all our logic, and we have heard all yours ;
now then, let us settle it. Who is the strongest and
best drilled ? ' I believe in insurrection. Everlasting
debate — and it is not genuine debate, for nobody really
ranges himself alongside his enemy's strongest points — •
demoralises us all. It encourages all sorts of sophistry,
becomes mere manoeuvring, and saps people's faith in

228 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

the truth. In half an hour, if two persons were to
sit opposite one another, they could muster every
single reason for and against Free Trade. What is
the use of going on after that ? Moreover, insurrection
strengthens the belief of men in the right. A man who
voluntarily incurs the risk of being shot believes ever
afterwards, if he escapes, a little more earnestly than
he did before. ' Who is on the Lord's side, let him
come unto me,' says the flag. Insurrection strengthens,
too, the faith of others. When a company of poor men
meet together and declare that things have got to such
a pass that they will either kill their enemies or die
themselves, the world then thinks there must, after all,
be some difference between right and wrong."

" Father, that is all past now. We must settle our
quarrels in the appointed way. Don't say anything
to discourage Mr. Allen. Besides, people are not so
immovable as you think. How they alter I don't
know ; but they do alter. There is a much larger
minority in favour of Free Trade than there was ten
years ago."

" All past now, is it ? You will see one of these
days."

It was time for tea, and Pauline left to get the tea-
things. In the evening they strolled out for a walk
through Barnsbury and up Maiden Lane, then a real
and pretty lane stretching north-westwards through
hedges to Highgate. After they had gone a few hundred
yards Zachariah went back ; he had forgotten some-
thing, and George and PauUne walked on slowly to-
gether. The street was crowded, for it was just about
church time, but on the opposite side of the road George
saw somebody whom he knew, but who took no notice
of him.

" How odd ! " he said to Pauline ; " that is Tom
Broad ! What is he doing here, I wonder ? "

Pauline made no answer, and at that moment
Zachariah rejoined them.

The reason for Mr. Thomas Broad's appearance in
that quarter will be best explained by the following

NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD 229

letter, which he had received the day before from his
father : —

" My DEAR Thomas, — I was very glad to hear of
your success at Mr. Martin's chapel, at Hackney, on
Sunday afternoon. Although it was nothing mora
than an afternoon service, you must remember that if
is the first invitation to a metropolitan pulpit which
you have received. It would be as well if you were to
call on Mr. Martin at your earliest convenience, and
also on Mr. Chandler, in Leather Lane, whom you men-
tioned to me, and who, I believe, is a prominent deacon.
The choice oi your subject was judicious, although it is
not so easy to fix the character of a discourse for the
afternoon as for the morning or evening. ' / will give
him a white stone ' is a text I have used myself with
great profit. A young minister, I need hardly say,
my dear Thomas, ought to confine himself to what is
generally accepted, and not to particularise. For this
reason he should avoid not only all disputed topics, but,
as far as possible, all reference to particular offences.
I always myself doubted the wisdom, for example, of
sermons against covetousness, or worldliness, or hypo-
crisy. Let us follow our Lord and Master, and warn
our hearers against sin, and leave the application to
the Holy Spirit. I only mention this matter now
because I have found two or three young students err in
this direction, and the error, I am sure, militates against
their usefulness.

" Your dear mamma and Tryphosa are both quite
well. Not so Priscilla. I grieve to say she is not well.
George's conduct lately has been very strange. I am
afraid that he will be a trouble, not only to us, but to
the Church of Christ. Both he and his father ha\e
kindled strife amongst us in this unhappy election con-
test, for which, as a minister of God's Word, 1 have held
aloof. H. For one or two Sundays the Aliens have absented
themselves from Divine service in the evening, and we
know that there has been no sickness in the house. I
feel certain that before long they will withdraw their

H

230 THE KEVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

subscription. I have good reason to believe that their
friend, Mr. Coleman, exercises a very baleful influence
upon them. However, God's will be done ! These
are the trials which His servants who minister to His
flock must expect. Good-bye, my dear Thomas.
Mamma and Tryphosa send their love. Give diligence
to make your calling and election sure. — Your affec-
tionate father,

" John Broad.

" P.S. — It will be as well, perhaps, if you can ascertain
whether the Aliens visit the Colemans, and more par-
ticularly if George goes there. The Coleman household
consists, I believe, of a father and daughter. You will
remember that Coleman has been a convict, and, I have
heard, has tendencies towards infidelity. Priscilla in-
forms me that ISSr. Allen and George will be in London
to-morrow ; but she does not know what they are going
to do there. You will doubtless be able to obtain the
information I desire, and on future occasions I will also
advise you when either George or his father is in the
ilietropolis."

Mr. Thomas Broad had his own reasons for complying
with his father's request. He hated the Colemans and
George with as much active malignity as was possible
to his heavy unctuous nature. Why he should hate
the Colemans is intelligible, and his hatred to George
can also be explained, partly through sympathy between
father and son, and partly because the hatred of a
person like Thomas Broad to a person like George Allen
Deeds no explanation.

CHAPTER XXV

" And a Man's Foes shall be They of His own
Household "

The county polling day meanwhile drew near, and
with its approach party spirit rose and the mutual
exasperation of both sides increased. George and his
father were out every evening at the Institute or can-
vassing, and George's first attempts at public speaking
were a success. At length the day dawned which was
to decide their fate. Cowfold was the polling station
for a large district, and both sides fully recognised its
importance. The Democratic colour was orange, and
the Tory was purple. Everybody wore rosettes, and
bands of music went about the town, carrj'ing flags and
banners, which had such an effect upon the Gawfold
population, more particularly upon that portion of
it which knew nothing whatever of the nnestions at
issue, that the mere sound of the instruments or sight
of a bit of bunting tied to a pole was sufficient to enable
them to dare a broken head, or even death. Beer may
have been partly the cause of this peculiar mental con-
dition, but not entirely, for sober persons felt the con-
tagion. We may laugh at it if we please, and no doubt
it is evidence of the weakness of human nature ; but,
like much more evidence of the same order, it is double-
voiced, and testifies also to our strength.

Priscilla was staying that night with her mother.
Mr. Broad's house, at the end of the town, was very
quiet, and George did not care to leave her alone with

231

232 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

the servant. Those were the days when the state of
the poll was published every hour, and as Cowfold lay
near the centre of the county a very fair opinion could
be formed of the progress of the voting. By three
o'clock it was known that up to eleven parties were
neck and nec5*- and the excitement grew more and
more intense. Every public-house in Cowfold was
free, and soon after dinner-time there was not a single
person in the place who was ever drunk before who had
not found it necessary to get drunk then in order to
support the strain on his nerves. Four o'clock came,
and the polling-booth was shut ; the numbers were
made up, and the two committees now anxiously
awaited the news from the outlying districts. The
general impression seemed to be that the popular candi-
date would win by about a dozen, and by eight o'clock
a crowd had assembled before the " Cross Keys " to
give due welcome to the desired announcement. Ten
o'clock came, and the mob began to get impatient and
unruly. Then there was a stir and a roar, and the
whole assemblage rushed off to the " Angel," in the
square. On the balcony was a huge placard, with the
purple hero at the top — 1837 — and below was the
orange favourite, in small and ignominious figures —
1 83 1. Bushel stood at the open window waving his
hat, apparently half frantic. Just underneath him
was a smaller crowd of the purple faction, who were
cheering and bawling with all their might as the enemy
came in sight. In an instant the conflict had begun.
The purple banners were the first objects of attack, and
disappeared every one of them, in less than five minutes,
under foot. Seen from one of the upper storeys of the
houses, the square looked like a great pot full of >^oiling
confusion. By degrees the wearers of purple were
driven hard against the " Angel " yard-gates, which
opened to receive them ; some who were not successful
in securing admittance escaping, with bloody heads,
down the side lane, and so out across the fields. There
was great difficulty in shutting the gates again ; but
the " Angel " hostlers appeared on the scene with

A MAN'S FOES 333

pitchforks and other weapons, whicli caused an ebb of
the tide for a moment. The}'' managed in the nick of
time to swing the gates together, and the heavy wooden
bar was thrown across them. The orange party was
now triumphant, but very unhappy, because it was
able to do no further mischief. Suddenly Bushel was
seen again at the window, and, as it was afterwards
averred, made some insulting gesture. A stone was the
prompt response, and in five minutes there was not a
whole pane of glass left in the front of the building.
" Have old Bushel out ! Smoke 'em out ! " was shouted,
and a rush followed towards the door. But the insur-
gents had no siege train for such a fortress, and the
sight of two or three fowling-pieces somewhat damped
their courage. They therefore turned off, wrecked the
brewer's house, and forced the " Angel " tap, which
was separated from the main building. The spirit-
casks were broached, and men turned the gin and brandy
taps into their mouths without waiting for gla.sses.
Many of them, especially those who first entered, were
at once overcome and dropped, lying about in the room
and in the gutter perfectly insensible. The remainder,
who could only drink what was left, became more and
more riotous, and a general sack of all purple property
was imminent. Mr. Allen was at the " Cross Ke^-s,"
but George was at home, and as he watched the scene
he saw the mob take a kind of lurch and sway along the
street which led to Mr. Broad's. He tlaought he heard
Mr. Broad's name, and in an instant he had buttoned
up his coat, taken the heaviest stick he could find, and
was off. He had the greatest difficulty in forcing his
way, and he did not reach the front of the crowd till it
was opposite Mr. Broad's and the destruction of the
windows had begun. He leaped over the iron railing,
and presented himself at the gate with the orange
rosette on his coat and the stick in his right hand. He
was just in time, for yells of " Psalm-singing old hypo-
crite ! " were already in the air, and the fence was being
stormed. George administered to the foremost ruffian
a blow on the shoulder which felled him on the path

234 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

outside, and then, standing on the low brick wall on
which the railings rested, showed his rosette, brandished
his club, and made some kind of inarticulate expostula-
tion, which, happily for him and Mr. Broad, was received
with cheers. Whether taken by itself it would have
been effectual or not cannot be said, for just at that
moment a more powerful auxiliary appeared. When
the " Angel " was abandoned the imprisoned garrison,
amongst whom were one or two county magistrates,
held a brief consultation. They organised their force
and marched out, the well-to-do folk in front and
abreast, armed with bludgeons, the " Angel " depend-
ents and about fifty more of the refugees coming in the
rear, every garden and stable weapon of offence being
distributed amongst them. They had the advantage,
of course, of being sober. They advanced at a run,
and their tramp was heard just as George was beginning
to try the effect of his eloquence. Panic and scattering
flight at once followed, not, however, before some dozen
or so of the fugitives had recovered what little sense
they ever had by virtue of sundry hard knocks on
their skulls, and a dozen more or so had been captured.
By twelve o'clock Cowfold was quiet and peaceable.
Citizens were left to wonder how their town, lying usually
so sleepily still, like a farmyard on a summer Sunday
afternoon, could ever transform itself after this fashion.
Men unknown and never before seen seemed suddenly
to spring out of the earth, and as suddenly to disappear.
Who were they ? Respectable Cowfold, which thought
it knew everybody in the place, could not tell. There
was no sign of their existence on the next day. People
gathered together and looked at the mischief wrought
the night before, and talked everlastingly about it ;
but the doers of it vanished, rapt away apparently into
an invisible world. On Sunday next, at one o'clock,
Cowfold Square, save for a few windows not yet mended,
looked just as it always looked ; that is to say, not a
soul was visible in it, and the pump was, as usual,
chained.

The band of rescuers had passed George as he stood

A MAN'S FOES 235

an the garden, and when they had gone he knocked at
the door. It was a long time before anybody came,
but at last it was partly opened, just as far as the chain
would permit, and the Reverend John Broad, looking
very white and with a candle in his hand appeared.

"It is I, George, Mr. Broad. Please tell me how
Priscilla is, and — how you all are after your fright.
I will not come in if you are all well."

" No, Mr. George, 3'ou will not come in. I little
thought that a member of Tanner's Lane Church, and
my daughter's husband, would associate himself with
such disgraceful proceedings as those we have witnessed
this evening."

" But, Mr. Broad, you are quite mistaken. I was
not with the mob. I came here as soon as I could to
protect you."

Mr. Broad, terrified and wrathful, had, however,
disappeared, and George heard the bolts drawn. He
was beside himself with passion, and knocked again
and again, but there was no answer. He was inclined
to try and break open the door at first, or seek an
entrance through a window, but he thought of Priscilla,
and desisted.

He was turning homewards, when he reflected that
it would be useless to attempt to go to sleep, and he
wandered out into the country towards Piddingfold,
pondering over many things. The reaction of that
night had been too severe. His ardour was again
almost entirely quenched when he saw the men for
whom he had worked, and who professed themselves
his supporters, filthily drunk. A noble sentence, how-
ever, from the Idler came into his mind — his mother
had a copy of the Idler in her bedroom, and read and
re-read it, and oftentimes quoted it to her husband and
her son — " He that has improved the virtue or advanced
the happiness oj one Jellow-creature . . . may be con-
tented with his own perjormance ; and, with respect to
mortals like himsclj, may demand, like Augustus, to be
dismissed at his departure with applause." He reflected
that he, an ironmonger's son, was not born to save the

236 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

world, and if the great Dr. Johnson could say what he
did, with how htlle ought not a humble Cowfold trades-
man to be satisfied ! We all of us have too vast a con-
ception of the duty which Providence has imposed upon
us ; and one great service which modern geology and
astronomy have rendered is the abatement of the fever
by which earnest people are so oiten consumed. But
George's meditations all through that night were in
the main about his wife, and as soon as he reached his
shop in the morning, the first thing he did was to write
a note to her telling her to come home. This she did,
although her mother and father objected, and George
found her there at dinner-time. She looked pale and
careworn, but this, of course, was set down to fright.
She was unusually quiet, and George forbore to say
anything about her father's behaviour. He dreaded
rather to open the subject ; he could not tell to what
it might lead. Priscilla knew all about Creorge's repulse
from her father's door, and George could tell she knew it.

His father and he had determined that Cowfold
would not be a pleasant place for them on the following
Sunday, and that business, moreover, demanded their
presence in London. Thither, accordingly, they went
on the Saturday, as usual ; and Priscilla naturally
communicating their intention to her mother, Mr.
Thomas Broad received an epistle from his father some-
thing Hke one we have already read, but still more
imperative in its orders that the dutiful son should see
whether the Aliens made Zachariah's house their head-
quarters. That they did not sleep there was well
known, but it was believed they had constant inter-
course with that unregenerate person, a disciple of
Voltaire, as the Reverend John B)-oad firmly believed,
and it would be " advantageous to possess accumulated
evidence of the fact." Priscilla knew that they lodged
always at the " George and Blue Boar " ; but how
they sp>ent their time on Sunday she did not know.
There was also a postscript, this time with a new
impo t :

" It has been reported that Coleman's daughter is

A MAN'S FOES 237

a young female not wiiho it a certain degree of attrac-
tiveness. It may perhaps, my dear Thomas, be some
day of service to me and to the church if you were to
inform me whether you have observed any tendencies
towards famiharity between George and this person.
I need not at the present moment give you my reasons
for this inquiry. It will be sufficient to say that I have
nothing more in view than the welfare of the flock
which Divine Providence has committed to my charge."

Mr. Thomas did his duty, and a letter was received
by his father on the following Tuesday, which was
carefully locked up in the drawer in which the sermons
were preserved.

The next day — that is to say, on Wednesday — George
was at work, as usual, when his little maid came to say
that her mistress was very bad, and would he go home
directly ? She had been unwell for some days, but it
was not thought that there was anything serious the
matter with her. George followed the girl at once, and
found Priscilla in bed with a violent headaclie and very
feverish. The doctor came, and pronounced it a case of
" low fever," a disease well enough known in Cowfold.
Let us make the dismal story as brief as possible. Nurse
Barton, hearing of her " dear boy's " trouble, presented
herself uninvited that evening at ten o'clock, and
insisted that George should not sit up. She remained
in the house, notwithstanding Mrs. Broad's assurances
that she really was not wanted, and watched over
Priscilla till the end came.

About a week afterwards, just when Priscilla seemed
to be getting a little better — she had been deliriojs,
but her senses had returned—and Mrs. Allen, who had
been in the house all day, had departed, a change for
the worse took place, and the doctor was summoned.
George, sitting in the parlour alone, heard Nurse Barton
come downstairs.

" My dear boy," she said as she entered, " God in
His mercy strengthen you in this trial as He has laid
upon you, but I thought I'd just come and tell yoM
myself. The doctor wor a-comin", but I said ' No ;

a »

238 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

my boy shall hear it from me.' I don't think as your
wife will get better ; she don't seem to pull herself
up a bit. She a'nt got no strength no more than a fly.
You'd better see her, I think."

" Who is there ? "

" Her mother and the doctor."

" Can't you get rid of them ? "

" All right, my dear. I must stay with you both,
but you won't mind me— God bless you ! " and the old
woman put her arms round George's neck and kissed
him tenderly.

She returned, and presently she redeemed her promise,
for she actually got Mrs. Broad away. At first she was
obstinate, but Priscilla whispered that she wished to
see her husband alone, and the doctor took upon himself
to warn Mrs. Broad that resistance on her part might
be dangerous. She then retreated with him, and George
found himself by the bedside. His wife was so prostrate
that she was hardly able to make herself heard, but
she lifted up her finger and made a sign that he should
bend his head down to her. He bent it down, and her
damp brown hair — the beautiful brown hair he had
loved so — lay on his forehead, and its scent was all about
him once more.

" George, my dear," she just breathed out, " I am
a poor silly girl, but I always loved you."

He stopped her instantly with his kisses, but Death
had stopped her too. He recoiled for a moment, and
with a sudden scream, " O God, she's gone ! " he fell
into the arms of his nurse, who stood behind him.

CHAPTER XXVI

A Professional Consultation

Three months passed, during which the Aliens' pew
was vacant at Tanner's Lane. George remained at
home with his only child, or was at his mother's, or,
shocking to relate, was in the fields, but not at chapel ;
nor were any of his family there. During the whole
of those three months one image was for ever before
his eyes. What self-accusations ! Of what injustice
had he not been guilty ? Little things, at the time
unnoticed, turns of her head, smiles, the fall of her hair
■ — oh, that sweet sweet brown hair ! — all came back to
him, and were as real before him as the garden wall.
He thought of her lying in her grave — she whom he had
caressed — of what was going on down there, under the
turf, and he feared he should go mad. Where was she ?
Gone, for ever gone — gone before he had been able to
make her understand how m.uch he really loved her,
and so send her to sleep in peace. But was she not in
heaven ? Would he not see her again ? He did not
know. Strange to say, but true, he, a member of
Tanner's Lane Church, who had never read a sceptical
book in his life, was obhged to confess, perhaps not
consciously, but none the less actually, he did not know.
In those dark three months the gospel according to
Tanner's Lane did nothing for him, and he was cast
forth to wrestle with his sufferings alone. It is surely
a terrible charge to bring against a religious system,
that in the conflict which has to be waged by every

239

240 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

son of Adam with disease, misfortune, death, the
behevers in it are provided with neither armour nor
weapons. Surely a real religion, handed down from
century to century, ought to have accumulated a store
of consolatory truths which will be of some help to us
in time of need. If it can tell us nothing, if we cannot
face a single disaster any the better for it, and if we never
dream of turning to it when we are in distress, of what
value is it ? There is one religious teacher, however,
which seldom fails those who are in health, and, at
last, did not fail him. He was helped by no priest
and by no philosophy ; but Nature helped him, the
beneficent Power which heals the burn or scar and
covers it with new skin.

At the end of the three months the Reverend John
Broad received a brief note from Mr. Allen announcing
that their pew at the chapel could be considered vacant,
and that the subscription would be discontinued.
Within a week Mr. Broad invited Brother Bushel,
Brother Wainwright the cart-builder and blacksmith,
and Brother Scotton the auctioneer, to a private meeting
at his own house. In a short speech Mr. Broad said
that he had sought a preliminary conference with them
to lay before them the relationship in which the Aliens
stood to the church in Tanner's Lane. They had
formally ceased to attend his ministrations, but of
course, as yet, they remained on the church books.
It was a matter which he, as the minister of the flock,
felt could not any longer be overlooked. He would
say nothing of the part which the Aliens had taken
in the late unhappy controversies which had distracted
the town, excepting that he considered they had dis-
played a heat and animosity inconsistent with their
professions and detrimental to the best interests of the
cause.

" I agree with that, Mr. Broad," interrupted Mr.
Bushel ; " and I may* say that, as you know, if you
had done nothing, / should ; f«9r how any member of
the — gospel— could live in — and go on — peace and
harmony with all men in the Church of Christ, I, at

A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION 241

least — that's my opinion." Mr. Bushel was shortnecked,
and shook his head always while he was talking,
apparently in order to disengage his meaning, which
consequently issued in broken fragments.

Mr. Broad resumed — " I may, however, observe
that George Allen was in company with the intoxi-
cated mob which devastated Cowfold ; and although
he has asserted that he merely endeavoured to control
its excesses — and such appears to be the view taken
by the civil authorities who have prosecuted the per-
petrators of the outrages — we, as members, my dear
brethren, of Christ's Body, have to be guided by other
considerations. While upon this subject of George
Allen, I may say, with as much delicacy as is permissible
to a faithful minister of God's holy Word, that I fear
George has been — a — h'm — what shall I say ? — at
least led astray by an unhappy intimacy with a female
residing in the metropolis who is an infidel. I have
no doubt in my own mind that the knowledge of this
fact accelerated the departure of my dear daughter,
whose sorrow was of a twofold character — sorrow, in
the first place, with regard to her husband's unfaith-
fulness, causing her thereby much personal affliction,
which, however, endureth but for a moment, for she
now inherits a far more exceeding weight of glory " —
Mr. Broad's week-day and extempore quotations from
the Bible were always rather muddled — " and, in the
second place, sorrow for her husband's soul. I think
we have distinct evidence of this intimacy, which I shall
be able to produce at the proper moment. We have all
observed, too, that whilst the Aliens have not latterly
attended Divine Service at Tanner's Lane, they have
not seceded to another place of worship. Finally, and
by way of conclusion, let me remark that I have wrestled
long with the Lord to know what was my duty towards
these apostates and towards the Church of Christ. I
considered at first I ought to remonstrate privately
with Mr. Allen ; but, alas ! he has shown a recalcitrant
disposition whenever I have attempted to approach
him. I have consulted Brother Bushel on the subject ;

242 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

indeed, I may say that Brother Bushel had previously
intimated to me the necessity of taking some steps in
the matter, and had assured me that he could not any
longer occupy the prominent position which he now
occupies in the church — so much, I may say, to our own
edification and advantage — if something were not done.
We think, therefore, that the church should be privately
convoked for deliberation. Brother Wainwright, what
counsel have you to give ?

Brother Wainwright always had a heavy account
with Brother Bushel. He was a little man, with a
little round head covered with straggling hair, which
came over his forehead. He sat with his hat between
his knees, looked into it, scratched his head, and said
with a jerk, " Oi agree with Brother Bushel."
" Brother Scotton, what do you say ? "
Brother Scotton was a Cowfold man, tall and thin,
superintendent of the Sunday-school, and to a con-
siderable extent independent of village custom. He
was not only an auctioneer, but a land surveyor ; he
also valued furniture, and when there were any houses
to be let, drew up agreements, made inventories, and
had even been known to prepare leases. There was
always, therefore, a legal flavour about him, and he
prided himself on his distant professional relationship
to full-blown attorneyhood. It was tacitly understood
in Cowfold that his opinion in certain cases was at least
equal to that of Mortimer, Wake, Collins & Mortimer
who acted as solicitors for half the county. Mr.
Scotton, too, represented Cowfold urban intelligence
as against agricultural rusticity ; and another point
in his favour was, that he had an office — no shop — with
a wire blind in the window with the words, " Scotton,
Land Agent, Auctioneer, and Appraiser," painted on
it. On Mr. Broad's present appeal for his verdict, he
put himself in a meditative attitude, stretched out his
legs to their full length, threw his head back, took
his lower lip in his left hand, pulled up his legs again,
bent forward, put his hands on his knees, and looked
sideways at Mr. Broad.

A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION 243

" I suppose that Mr. Allen and his son will have
the charges communicated to them. Mr. Broad, and be
summoned to attend the meeting ? "

" What do you say, Brother Bushel ? "

" Don't see no use in it. All very well them
lawyers " — a snap at Scotton — " come and argyfy — •
I hate argyfying, I do myself — never seed no good
on it. Get rid of a man — I do. ' Sickly sheep infects
the flock and pisons all the rest.' " These last words
formed part of a hymn of which Brother Bushel was
very fond.

" What do you say, Brother Wainwright ? "

Brother Wainwright, although he could do nothing
bat agree with Brother Bushel, and never did anything
but agree with him, preferred to make a show of reflec-
tion. He again looked in his hat, shut his mouth fast ;
again scratched his head ; again shook it a little, and
with another jerk, as if announcing a conclusion at which
he had arrived with great certaint3^ but after a severe
mental effort, he said :

" Oi go with Brother Bushel, Oi do."

" Well," said Scotton, extending his legs again and
gazing at the ceiling, " I must nevertheless be permitted
to adhere "

" Adhere," interrupted Bushel. " What's the use
of talking like that ? You always adhere — what for,
I should like to know ? "

Scotton went on with dignity, not noticing the
attack :

" Adhere, I was about to say, Mr. Broad, to my
previously expressed opinion. I am not at all sure
that the Aliens have not a legal status, and that an
action would not lie if we proceeded without due
formalities. Tanner's Lane, you roust recollect, is
in a peculiar position, and there is an endowment."

Mr. Scotton had this advantage over Cowfold generally,
that if he knew nothing about the law himself, excepting
so far as bids at a sale were concerned, Cowfold knew
less, and the mention of the endowment somcwhut
disturbed Mr. Broad's mind.

244 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

" Brother Bushel is no doubt quite justified in his
anxiety to avoid discussion, which will in all probability
lead to no useful result ; but, on the other hand, it will
be as well, perhaps, to proceed with caution."

" Well," ejaculated Bushel, "do as yer like ; you'll
see you'll get in an argyfication and a mess, you take
my word on it."

" Suppose," said Mr. Broad, his face shining as he
spoke, " we hit upon a third course, the via media, you
know, Brother Scotton " — Brother Scotton nodded
approvingly, as much as to say, " / know ; but how
about Bushel ? ") — " the via media, and have a friendly
^neeting of the most influential members of the church —
a majority— and determine upon a course of action,
which we can afterwards ratify at the formal meeting,
at which the Aliens will be present. We shall in this
way, it seems to me, prevent much debate, and practic-
ally arrive at a conclusion beforehand."

" Yes," said Scotton — very slowly. " I don't see,
at the present moment, any particular objection ; but
1 should not like to commit myself."

" How does it strike you. Brother Bushel ? "

" Arter that, I suppose Scotton ull want some sort
of a dockyment sent. I'm agin all dockyments. Why,
what'll Allen do ? Take it over to Collins — Mortimer —
Stamp it, ten-and-sixpenny stamp. What will yer do
then ? "

" No, Brother Bushel ; I apprehend that it will be
my duty as pastor to write to the Aliens a simple
letter — a simple pastoral letter — announcing that a
church meeting will be convened at a certain hour in
the vestry, to consider some statements — charges —
naming them — not going into unnecessary detail, and
requesting their attendance.

" That's better ; that wouldn't be a dockyment, I
s'pose ; and yet praps he might stamp that. Resolu-
tion arterwards. Time they were out of it. Come on.
Wain Wright, gettin' dark."

" Well then, we agree," said Mr. Broad — " happily
agree ; and I trust that the Lord will yet prosper His

A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION 245

Zion, and heal the breaches thereof,
take any refreshments before you
Brother Bushel ? "

Brother Bushel did not believe in Mr. Broad's refresh-
ments, save those which were spiritual, .. d declined
them with some abruptness, preferring mi a glass of
hot brown brandy and water at the inn vv
was. Brother Wainwright would have ta
but was bound to follow Brother Bushel, \
to give him a lift honii , , ds ; and Brothc
a teetotaller, one of the rirst who was conv*.

Will any of you
go ? Will you.

; his horse

anything,

< was about

cotton was

led to total

abstinence in Cowfold, and just a trifle suspected at
Tanner's Lane, and by U shel in partic i,r, on that
account. Water-drinking was not a her to which
any definite objection could be raised ; t Tanner's
Lane always felt that if o ce a man differ ,0 far from
his fellows as not to driuK beer and spin there was
no knowing where the division might ei "It was

the thin end of the wedge," Mr. Broad o\ rved confi-
dentially to Bushel once when the subject w nentioned.
The preliminary meeting, therefore, w held, and
Mr. Broad having communicated the ch ,'es against
the Aliens — absenting themselves from pi .c worship,
disturbance of the peace of the church intercourse
with infidel associates, and finally so far a.-. Cieorge was
concerned, " questionable behaviour," a^ Mr. Broad
delicately put it, " with an infidel fem ; " — it was
determined to call them to account. Th. was some
difference of opinion, how cr. It was tho ht by some
that all reference to tiie lection, dircci >r indirect,
should be avoided, for t. majority in 'i ler's Lane
was certainly not Tory. 3ut Brother b 1 seemed
to consider this the head a. id front of thi ■icncc, and
declared that if this were not part of the 1 nctment he
would resign. He also was opposed to givi ; the Aliens
any information beforehand, and, if he had been allowed
to have his own way, would not have pc utted them
to attend. He would have them " cut c ." he said,
"there and then, summararlilly." He g"i into great
difficulties with this last word, and before uc could get

246 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

rid of it had to shake his head several times. Others
thought it would be dangerous to act in this style ;
and there seemed no chance of any agreement, until
Mr. Broad once more " healed the incipient division "
by proposing another via media, which was carried.
It was determined that there should be only an allusion
to the political charge. It was to be subsidiary. In
fact, it was not to be a political charge at all, but a
moral charge, although, as Mr. Broad privately ex-
plained to Brother Bushel, it would come to the same
thing in the end. Then Mr. Broad, as he had suggested
at an earlier stage, was himself to write a letter to
the Aliens, stating in " general terms " the dissatis-
faction felt by the church and its minister with them,
and requesting their appearance in the vestry on the
day named. Brother Scotton was still malcontent, but
as he was in a minority he held his peace. He resolved,
however, on his own account, to acquaint the Aliens
with what had happened, and prepare them. They
were no particular friends of his, but Bushel also was
no particular friend, and his auctioneering trade had at
least educated him, in the disputes amongst buyers, to
hold the scales of justice a little more evenly than they
were held by Bushel's hands.

Neither George nor his father were much disturbed
by any of the items in Scotton's information nor by
Mr. Broad's letter, save the reference to Pauline. It
is true it was very remote, but the meaning, especially
after Scotton's explanation, was obvious, and George
was in a fury which his father found it very difficult to
repress. For himself George did not care, but he did
care that Pauline's name should not be dragged into the
wretched squabble. Father and son both agreed that
the case should be laid before Zachariah ; but when
Mr. Allen came back from London he merely said, in
answer to George's inquiries, that Zachariah and himself
were in perfect accord, and that at the meeting George
was not to interfere.

CHAPTER XXVII

Mr, Broad's last Church Meeting — Latimer
Chapel

The ev^entful evening at last arrived. It had been
announced from the pulpit on the Sunday before that
a special meeting of the church would be held on the
following Wednesday to consider certain questions of
discipline — nothing more — as it was not thought proper
before the general congregation to introduce matters
with which the church alone was qualified to deal.
Everybody, however, knew what was intended, and
when Wednesday night came the vestry was crowded.
Mr. Broad sat in a seat sUghtly elevated at the end of the
room, with a desk before him. On his right hand was
Brother Bushel, on the left was Brother Scotton, and
on the front bench were Brother Wainwright and a few
of the more important members, amongst whom was
Thomas Broad, who, although it was a week-day, was
in full ministerial costume ; that is to say, he wore his
black — not pepper-and-salt — trousers and a white
neckerchief. Mr. Allen and George were at the back
of the room. There were no women there, for although
women were members as well as men, it was always an
understood thing at Tanner's Lane that they were to
take no part in the business of the community. Seven
o'clock having struck, Mr. Broad rose and said, " Let
us pray." He prayed for about ten minutes, and
besought the Almighty to shed abroad His Holy Spirit
upon them for their guidance. As the chosen people

247

248 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

had been brought through the wilderness and deUvered
from the manifold perils therein, so God, he hoped,
would lead His flock then assembled, through the
dangers which encompassed them. Oh that they might
be wise as serpents and harmless as doves ! Might they
for ever cleave to the faith once delivered to the saints !
Might they never be led astray to doubt the efficacy of
the Blood of the Atonement once offered by tl Son
of God ! Might they, through their Saviour's i erits,
secure at last an entrance into those mansions where
all the saints of God, those faithful souls whom He had
elected as His own, of His own eternal foreknowledge,
would abide for ever, in full fruition of the joys promised
in His Word.

The prayer over, Mr. Broad rose and said that he
was there that night to discharge a most painful duty —
one which, if he had taken counsel with flesh and blood,
he would most gladly have avoided. But he was a
humble servant of their common Lord and Master.
It behoved him to cease not to warn every one night
and day ; to remember that the Holy Ghost had made
him an overseer to feed the church of God which He had
purchased with His precious blood. He had done noth-
ing in this matter without constant recurrence to the
footstool of grace, and he had also consulted with some
of his dear brethren in Christ whom he saw near him.
They would have observed that Brother Allen and his
family had for some time absented themselves from
the means of grace. He should have said nothing
upon this point if they had joined any other Christian
community. If even they had attended the Estab-
lished Church, he would have been silent, for he was
free to confess that in other religious bodies besides
their own God had faithful servants who held fast
to the fundamental doctrines of His book. But it
was notorious, alas ! that his dear brother had gone
NOWHERE ! In the face of the apostolic command
not to forsake the assembling of themselves together,
what could they do but suspect that his dear brother's
belief had been undermined — sapped, he would say ?

MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING 249

But to that point he would return presently. Then,
again, they were all familiar with the circumstances
attending the late political contest in the county. He
knew that many of his dear brethren differed one from
another concerning matters relating to this world, al-
though they were all, blessed be God, one in Christ,
members of His body. He himself had thought it better
to follow, as far as he could, the example of his Lord
and Master to render unto Caesar the things that are
Caesar's, and to lead a quiet and peaceable life in
all godliness and honesty. He would not for a
moment, however, condemn any who differed from him
in carnal policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his
son had overstepped the line ; and, considering this
was a mixed church, he was of opinion that they should
have acted — what should he say ? — with more Christian
consideration. More than this, Mr. George Allen was
known to have abetted an unruly mob, a position highly
unbecoming, he might say, to one occupying the position
of member at Tanner's Lane. But he might, perhaps,
be permitted to dwell for a moment on another point.
His dear Brother Allen and his son had — there was no
doubt of it — consorted with infidels, one of whom had
been convicted by the laws of his country — a convict —
and it was through their instrumentality that his brethren
had been led to wander from the fold. This was the
secret of the calamity which had overtaken the church.
Wolves, he would say — yes, wolves, grievous wolves —
had entered in, not sparing the flock. Let them con-
sider what an Infidel was ! It meant a man who denied
his Maker, Revelation, a hfe beyond the grave, and who
made awful jests upon the Holy Scriptures ! He had
evidence that in this miserable household there was a
portrait of that dreadful blasphemer Voltaire, who on
his deathbed cried out in vain for that salvation which
he had so impiously refused, and amidst shrieks of des-
pair, which chilled with terror those who stood by him,
was carried off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake that
burneth with brimstone, where their worm dieth not
and the fire is not quenched.— (Sensation.) (Tliis was

250 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

a famous paragraph in one of Mr. Broad's sermons
preached on great occasions, and particularly when he
supplied a metropolitan pulpit. The story had been
contradicted twice in the county paper by a Frenchman,
a retired teacher of his native language, who had some-
how heard of the insult offered to his great countryman,
and a copy of the contradiction had been sent to Mr.
Broad. He was content with observing that its author
was a Frenchman, and therefore probably an atheist,
" with no consciousness of moral obligation." Vol-
taire's diabolic disappearance continued, therefore,
to be one of Mr. Broad's most striking effects.) — This
was a subject of great delicacy. They knew how closely
related he was to Brother Allen through that dear saint
now in glory. He did not — he could not — (Mr. Broad
seemed to be affected) — allude in any detail to what
had happened ; but still it was his duty to point out that
Mr. George Allen had been in constant intercourse with
a female in an infidel family — yes, before his wife's
death he had been seen with her alone ! Alone with an
infidel female ! He only hoped that the knowledge of
this fact did not accelerate the departure of his blessed
daughter— daughter in the flesh and daughter in Christ.
He could not measure the extent of that intercourse ;
the Searcher of hearts alone could do that, save the
parties concerned ; but, of course, as she was an unbe-
liever, they must fear the worst. For liimself, he had
felt that this was the root of everything. They would
judge for themselves how fervently he must have ap-
pealed to the Mercy-seat, considering his position and
relationship with his dear brother, before he had seen
his way to take the present course ; but at last God had
revealed Himself to him, and he now committed the case
to them. Might God have mercy on them, and His
Spirit lead them.

Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained them-
selves, and George, notwithstanding his father's in-
junction, leapt up before the concluding sentences were
out of Mr. Broad's mouth. Mr. Scotton, however,
rose, and Mr. Allen pulled George down. Mr. Scotton

MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING 251

wished to say just one word. They could not, he was
sure, overestimate the gravity of the situation. They
were called together upon a moet solemn occasion.
Their worthy pastor had spoken as a minister of the
gospel. He, Mr. Scotton, as a layman, wished just to
remind them that they were exercising judicial functions
— (Brother Bushel fidgeted and got very red) — and
that it was necessary they should proceed in proper
order. With regard to two of the charges, the evidence
was fully before them ; that is to say, absence from public
worship and what might perhaps be thought want of
consideration for the peace of the church. — (" Praps,"
grunted Bushel — " praps indeed.") — But with regard
to the third charge, the evidence was not before them,
and as this was the most important of the three he would
suggest before going any farther that they sliould hear
what Mr. Broad could produce.

Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom indeed
that he offered any remarks in public ; but this time he
could not refrain, and introduced himself as follows :

" Brother Scotton says ' praps.' I don't say ' praps,"
when people go settin' class agin class. Praps nobody's
windows was broke ! Evidence ! Hasn't our minister
told us George Allen has been to London ? He wouldn't
tell us an untruth. Due respec', Brother Scotton —
no lawyering — none of that — of them functions —
'specially when it's infidels and ricks may be alire — aught
I know."

Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood Brother
Bushel's ardour for the truth, but he was prepared to.
produce some simple corroboration of what he had
affirmed, which would, he thought, satisfy Brother
Scotton and the brethren generally. " Thomas," quoth
Mr. Broad, " will you please step forward and say what
you know ? "

Mr. Thomas thereupon advanced to the tabic, and
said it would ill become him to expatiate on the present
occasion. He would confine himself to obeying the
mandate of his father. He then reported that he had
been led to visit the Colemans at first as friends of the

252 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

Aliens, and not knowing their devilish tendencies. God
had, however, he hoped, mercifully protected him.
If it had not been for God's grace, where might he not
have been that day ? It was true that they were dis-
ciples of the French sceptic ; his likeness was on the
walls ; his books were on the bookshelves ! Mr. George
Allen had been in the habit of associating not only with
Mr. Coleman, but with the daughter, and with the
daughter alone ! as has already been stated. She was
also an infidel — more so, perhaps, than her father ;
and Satan had a way, as they all knew, of instilling
the deadly poison so seductively that unwary souls were
often lost, lost, lost beyond recall, before they could
truly be said to be aware of it. He wished, therefore,
that evening to confess again, as, indeed, he had just
confessed before, that by grace he had been saved.
It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,
but of God that showeth mercy. He trembled to think
how near he himself had been to the pit of destruction,
lured by the devices of the great Enemy of Souls ; but
praise be to God he had been saved, not through his
own merits, but through the merits of his Redeemer.

Mr. Broad purred with pleasure during this oration,
and looked round on the audience for their approval.

Mr. Allen was now completely quieted. The speech
had acted like a charm. He rose immediately.

" Mr. Broad," he said deliberately, but with much
emphasis — you might have heard a pin drop — "the
value of the testimony just given depends upon the
character of the witness. May I ask him to explain
how he came by thai scar on the hack of his hand ? "

Mr. Allen remained standing. There was no sign
of an answer. He sat down for a moment, but still
there was no movement. He rose again.

" Mr. Broad, as there is no reply, will you permit
me to give the explanation ? "

Mr. Thomas Broad then slowly erected himself near
the table at which his father was sitting. He held on
by it hard, and gulped down half a glass of water which
was there. His tallowy face looked more tallowy than

MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING 253

ever, and his voice shook most unpleasantly as he was
just heard to say that he did not know with what object
the question was put — that it — that it — seemed —
seemed irrel — irrelev — and these were the last syllables
ever heard from the lips of Mr. Thomas in Tanner's
Lane, for he dropped into his seat and apparently fainted.
There was great confusion while his recovery was at-
tempted. He was conveyed into the chapel, more water
was given him, smelling-salts applied, and in due time
he regained his senses ; but his father, on his return to
the vestry, announced that after what had happened
the meeting had perhaps better be adjourned. He
felt it impossible to go any further just then. Tanner's
Lane Church, therefore, departed, much musing, and
was never again summoned on that business. Mr. Allen
had some thoughts of demanding another meeting and
a formal acquittal, but the pastor was suddenly struck
with paralysis, and although he lingered for nearly two
years, he preached no more. So it came to pass that
George and his father are on the church books till this
day. There was, of course, endless gossip as to the
meaning of Mr. Allen's appeal. Whether George ever
knew what it was is more than I can say, but it is certain
that Cowfold never knew. Mr. Allen always rescdutely
repelled all questions, saying that it would be time enough
to go further when he was next attacked. The Broads,
mother and daughter, asserted that no doubt Thomas
had a mark upon the back of his hand, but that it had
been caused by a nail in a fence, and that he had fainted
through indisposition. This theory, however, was
obviously ridiculous, for Mr. Allen's reference had no
meaning if Thomas had met with a simple accident.
Mrs. Broad saw that her son's explanation, greatly as
she trusted him, was weak, and at last Thomas, with
Christian compunction, admitted that the fence was the
palings of the College garden, over which he had once
clambered when he was too late for admittance at the
College gates. This was true. Mr. Thomas, on the
very evening of his interview with Pauline, had obtained
admission over the palings, had been detected, and there

254 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

had been an inquiry by the authorities ; but the scar,
as we know, had another origin. Mrs. Broad was com-
pelled to circulate this story, and accompanied it with
many apologies and much regret. It was the sorrow
of her life, she said ; but, at the same time, she must add
that her son was delayed by no fault of his. The Presi-
dent had investigated the matter, and had contented
himself with a reprimand. Her friends would under-
stand that Thomas would prefer, under the circumstances,
not to visit Cowfold again, and, considering her dear
husband's sickness, she could not advise that the pro-
secution of the Aliens should be pressed.

Cowfold, however, was not satisfied. Mr. Allen
would not, as a man of the world, have thought so much
of such an indiscretion. Why was Mr. Thomas late ?
Cowfold could not endure simple suspense of judgment.
Any theory, however wild, is more tolerable than a con-
fession that the facts are not sufficient for a decision,
and the common opinion, corroborated, it was declared,
by surest testimony, was that Mr. Thomas had been
to the theatre. There was not a tittle of evidence to
support this story, but everybody was certain it was
true. Everybody repeated it, and constant repetition
will harden the loosest hearsay into a creed far more
unshakable than faith in the law of gravity.

Just before Mr. Broad's last illness, the secession of
the Aliens was imitated by about twenty of the younger
members of the congregation, who met together on
Sunday, under Mr. Allen's guidance, and worshipped
by themselves, each of them in turn making some attempt
at an exposition of the Bible and a short address. By
the time Mr. Broad died Tanner's Lane had sunk very
low ; but when his successor was chosen the seceders
exercised their rights, and were strong enough to elect
a student fresh from college, who had taken an M.A.
degree at the University of London. He preached his
first sermon from the text, " I am crucified with Christ,"
and told his hearers, with fluent self-confidence, that
salvation meant perfect sympathy with Christ — " Not
I, but Christ liveth in me ; " that the office of Christ

MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING 255

was not to reconcile God to man, but man to God ; and
this is effected in proportion as Christ dwells in us,
bringing us more and more into harmony with the
Divine. The Atonement is indeed the central doctrine,
the pivot of Christianity, but it is an atoMement, a mak-
ing of one mind. To which Tanner's Lane listened
with much wonderment, and not without uncomfortable
mental disturbance, the elder members complaining
particularly that this was not the simple gospel and
that the trumpet gave an uncertain sound. But
the opposition gradually died out ; the meeting-house
was rebuilt, and called Latimer Chapel. The afternoon
service was dropped and turned into a service for the
Sunday-school children ; an organ was bought and a
choir trained ; the minister gave week-day lectures on
secular subjects, and became a trustee of the Cowfold
charity schools, recently enlarged under a new scheme.
He brought home a wife one day who could read German ;
he joined the County Archaeological Society, and wrote
a paper on the discoveries made when the railway station
was built on what was supposed to be an ancient British
encampment. For Cowfold was to become an important
junction on the new line to the north, and Mr. Bushel's
death had been accelerated by vexation through seeing
a survey carried across his own fields.

As for Mrs. Broad and Tryphosa, they left Cowfold
and went into Lancashire, to be near uncle Flavel.
George, notwithstanding the new doctrine in Latimer
Chapel and the improvement in the Cowfold atmos-
phere, was restless, and before the revolution just des-
cribed was completed, had been entirely overcome with
a desire to emigrate with his child. His father and
mother not only did not oppose, but decided to accom-
pany him. Mr. Allen had saved money, and though
he and his wife were getting on in years, there was noth-
ing in either of them of that subsidence into indifferent
sloth which is the great mistake of advancing age.
Both were keen in their desire to know the last new thing,
eager to recognise the last new truth, forgetful of the
past, dwelling in the present, and, consequently, they

256 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

remained young. They were younger, at any rate,
just now than George ; and it was his, not exactly mel-
ancholy, but lack of zest for life, which mainly induced
them so readily to assent to his plans. One bright
June morning, therefore, saw them, with their children,
on the deck of the Liverpool vessel which was to take
them to America. Oh day of days, when after years
of limitation, monotony, and embarrassment, we see
it all behind us, and face a new future with an illimit-
able prospect ! George once more felt his bosom's
lord sit lightly on his throne ; once more felt that the
sunlight and blue sky were able to cheer him. So they
went away to the West, and we take leave of them.

What became of Zachariah and Pauline ? At present
I do not know.

The End

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